


Trust Me, Trust You

by NeverSeenHer



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Foster Care AU, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Modern AU, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Therapy, and lots of banter, and other messy issues! and slowly working through them!, hs au kind of, navigating trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16668859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverSeenHer/pseuds/NeverSeenHer
Summary: Angry, rebellious Beauregard is once again in the system. For good this time, they tell her, but she knows better than to trust anything the authorities say. Then she gets enrolled in a support group for foster kids and meets a slew of interesting peers, all with their own baggage.There's quiet, handsome Fjord, who almost seems normal until he doesn't; tiny, twitchy Nott, a klepto with a heart of silver; shy, scary Yasha, a giant of a girl who... collects flowers; gaudy, sarcastic Mollymauk, who immediately gets on Beau's nerves; and nervous, bookish Caleb, whose dark eyes betray darker secrets. Oh, and then there's Jester, who is cheerful and loud and lonely. She's there too.Together, these seven teens cope, hurt, heal, and gradually redefine family.





	1. Session Zero

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd bc we all die someday
> 
> expect very sporadic updates.

Beau sat on the front steps of her high school, her heart pounding in her rib cage like she was a trapped, frightened animal. She had to remind herself she wasn’t one. She had to remind herself to push back the familiar urge to _run._

She was in enough trouble already. Suspended, again. Right on the brink of the school year finally being over.

Every time she heard the sound of a car approaching the school, Beau’s heart leapt into her throat, her hands getting even clammier.

 _It won’t be him_ , she reminded herself firmly, over and over. _It’s Dairon. He’s not the one that’s gonna pick you up. It’s Dairon. Not him. Dairon._

Beauregard hadn’t seen her father in one month and three weeks.

A sleek, dark blue car pulled up in front of her. Dairon stepped out. She was a willowy woman with a shaved head, stern eyes, and skin even darker than Beau’s own. She looked nothing like Beau’s father.

Even so, Beau’s heartbeat hammered into overdrive.

But there was no trace of cold anger in Dairon’s face. Her current foster mom rarely ever got angry. There was just disappointment, the barest hint of sadness.

This, out of anything, startled Beau out of her frozen fear. Dairon was so completely difficult to read, normally. Always just stuffy and frigid.

Beau got into the car without a word.

Dairon didn’t try to get her to talk until they’re almost all the way home. ( _Dairon’s_ home. Beau could be sent away at any second.)

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. She sounded calm.

This didn’t stop Beau’s hands from clamming up again. Her father often sounded calm. Until he wasn’t.

But she couldn’t show her anxiety. She tried for a sneer. “Why? The vice-principal already recapped you, I’m sure.”

Dairon was unfazed. “I want to hear it from you.”

“There’s nothing to hear.”

“Beauregard,” she said, audibly trying to sound gentler, “I would like to hear your side of the story. I understand that school admin can often be unfair.”

She snorted. “ _You_ work for a school.”

“Exactly.” Dairon’s lip twitched. “So I should know better than anyone, shouldn’t I?”

 _Ha. Fair point._ Beau’s stomach unclenched, a little. Dairon had an unnerving ability to—to make sense. To be kind of cool sometimes, even though she was a stuffy hardass.

But thoughts like that were dangerous. She couldn’t afford to start trusting this woman. God forbid getting _attached._

Still, she softened a little. “I got in a fight with some asshole. When we got sent to the office, they found some weed in my pockets. Happy now?”

“Are you hurt?”

Beau was fast, hard to hit, but her ribs did ache. Jackass got in a couple good jabs there. But that much was nothing, for her. She scoffed derisively.

Dairon accepted this as an answer, and moved on. “How did the fight start?”

“Does it matter?” Beau snapped.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Resorting to violence is normally undesirable, but... What about self-defense? What about defense of the vulnerable? What about certain ‘assholes’ just needing their faces punched?” A hint of a smile again. “I can’t responsibly tell you fighting is justified, but... some reasons are more forgivable than others.”

_Dammit._

The asshole called her a dyke, so she pummeled him. But she wasn’t about to share that. No matter how unexpected Dairon’s response was.

Beau stared out the window, silent.

Dairon sighed as they pulled into the driveway.

“Very well then,” she said, cutting the engine. “The school shouldn’t have been allowed to search your pockets without reason. I’ll be sure to talk to them about that. But you’re still grounded for two weeks. You should already be familiar with the rules of what that entails.”

Beau hopped out of the car. She slammed the passenger door shut, hard, and fired off a sarcastic salute. “Roger fuckin’ that, ma’am.”

She stomped toward the house.

Dairon sighed again.

***

“A _what?_ ”

“A support group,” Dairon repeated calmly over dinner that night. “For teens like you.”

“Fuck-ups?”

“Foster kids.”

“Sure,” Beau muttered, “same damn difference.”

Dairon ignored her. “Your caseworker recommended it to me. It’ll run three months, over the whole summer. Not a large group, maybe just four or five other kids.”

“No fuckin’ way,” she said flatly. “I’m not seeing another fuckin’ shrink, much less with a bunch of other fuck-ups.”

“They’re not fuck-ups,” Dairon said patiently. “They’re teens in the system who need some additional support. Like you. Or kids who even just need some peers to relate to, or some ears to listen to them. I’ve heard great things about the program coordinator.”

Beau stabbed a carrot with her fork, viciously. “I’m not going.”

There were a few moments of silence. Silence was bad. It made the muscles of Beau’s neck tighten up, her heartbeat quicken.

“I won’t say you don’t have a choice,” Dairon said finally. “You do. But... with your problems at school, the suspensions, the fighting, I’m concerned your caseworker will move you to another placement. I want us to take steps to show that the both of us are taking these difficulties seriously, trying to smooth your transition.”

 _That_ made Beau freeze in her tracks. “So if I don’t do this, you’ll send me away? Ask for a refund, is that it?”

“I didn’t say anything of the sort,” Dairon said quietly. “I won’t send you away. But I don’t want them to take the choice out of my hands.”

Beau struggled to get her breathing steady. Her fork shook in her hands.

“I know,” Beau said eventually. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

 _Fuck_ , she thought. _Fuckfuckfuck._ Her own reaction terrified her. She shouldn’t give a fuck if she got moved from Dairon to some other foster placement. It was all supposed to be the same—no attachments. All just temporary shitty places that would eventually, probably lead her back to her dad. She refused to analyze how that made her feel.

(He was taking anger management classes or some shit. Just like last time. Thinking about it made her stomach churn.)

But then, well—no, it made sense for her to be scared, right? Things were _okay_ here so far with Dairon. It made more sense to want to stay here than have to fare with another unknown. Beau hadn’t exactly had a nightmarish experience with a foster family yet—maybe because Dairon was only her second real placement, ever—but she’d heard the stories. Everyone had heard the stories. A new placement would be a damn gamble. Just because she wanted to keep with known variables didn’t mean she’d done something stupid, like get herself emotionally _invested_ in Dairon, or anything like that.

“Okay,” Beau said. “Okay. I’ll do the stupid fucking fuck-up group thing.”

“Support group,” Dairon corrected mildly. “Also, language.”

“ _Now_ you complain about language?”

Once again she ignored her commentary. “I appreciate you agreeing to try out the group. We can always look into something else if you really hate it, after a few weeks.”

Beau trained her eyes on her plate. _Thanks_. The word was on her lips. She didn’t let it out.

“Also,” said Dairon lightly, “it’s your turn to do the dishes.”

Beau groaned.

***

Time passed, Beau went back to school just in time for a few exams, and then it was over. She passed the tenth grade, somehow, just barely.

Summer vacation started, but she wasn’t free. Way too early in the morning, Dairon pulled her out of bed and drove her to the first session of the Fuck-Up Support Group.

She didn’t take her to some local clinic or children’s hospital, which surprised Beau. Instead they drove to a nice house in a wealthy residential neighbourhood.

“This feels kind of creepy,” Beau remarked as they pulled into this rando’s driveway.

“Therapy in a home environment has been found to be helpful for many groups, especially amongst children and teenagers,” said Dairon.

Beau smirked. “Aw. Did you do research for me?”

“Of course,” Dairon said without hesitation. “This is important.”

Beau averted her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Besides,” Dairon added, “you know I love any chance to do research.”

She snorted despite herself.

They went up to the door, Beau lagging behind with her hands crammed deep in her jeans pockets. Dairon waited for her at the doorstep, though, and nodded in that annoying, nudge-y way that said, _Go ahead. Ring the doorbell._

Beau rolled her eyes. She rang the doorbell.

The person who opened the door was a tall woman with thick, dark red hair, warm russet skin, and the softest eyes Beau’d ever seen. _All_ of her was soft, really. There was no way around it—all of her was beautiful.

Beau’s ears felt hot. This was even more embarrassing than finding a teacher attractive.

Introductions were made. Dairon and the woman—who was apparently Dr. Marion Lavorre, highly acclaimed, _have you read her book, Beauregard_ (of course not)—shook hands, and Marion even shook hands with Beau, which was weird and surprising but nice. It made her feel more like an equal, instead of a shitty problem kid being dropped off for therapy. Support. Whatever.

“You can go through the hallway ahead into the dining room, Beauregard,” Marion told her kindly. “A few of the other members are already seated there, and so is Clay. He’ll be the group facilitator for all of your sessions.”

“It’s not gonna be you?” Beau said, before realizing she might sound inordinately disappointed.

Marion just smiled. “I did start the program, but I primarily offer one-on-one counselling in my home office. Clay is a doctorate student who’s hopefully a little more in-touch with your age group than I am. I have the utmost faith in him.”

Beau shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Do you want me to go in with you?” asked Dairon.

“No,” she snapped, scowling. “What? Fuck you.”

“Very well,” said Dairon, unfazed as usual. “I’ll pick you up at noon. Please try to keep an open mind.”

“Whatever,” Beau repeated. She paused, then managed, “Bye.”

She didn’t wait for Dairon to say goodbye back before making a beeline to the dining room. The Fuck-Up Support Room.

Inside was a tree of a man—tall, and uncannily, unhealthily skinny—with a soft pink mohawk. He was dressed in soft, pastel silks that makes Beau think of a hippie yoga instructor who’s secretly a mother of four. He had the kind of face where it was hard to tell whether he was twenty-five or fifty.

The dude smiled like he was delighted and surprised by Beau’s arrival.

“Oh, another one,” he said, perfectly amiably. “Good, good. I’m Caduceus Clay. I’m sure the good Ruby already introduced me.”

Beau just stared. “Your name is ‘Deuces’?”

Caduceus just shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call me. It _is_ two syllables of my name.”

He told her to take a seat around the dining room table until the rest of the group arrived. There were two kids already seated there. One was a boy who looked older than Beau, if only because of how tall and broad-shouldered he was. His skin was dark and smooth, accentuating the warm amber of his eyes, the black curls of his neatly trimmed undercut.

Beau was the gayest person she knew, but even she had to admit the guy was handsome.

Chatting his ear off was a girl with thick, bouncy hair only a slightly lighter shade of blue than her eyes. Her grin was wide and sparkling with mischief, and there was a spray of freckles across her nose and spilling onto her cheeks. Her skin tone was a shade lighter than Marion Lavorre’s, but there was something about her smile and the shape of her eyes that felt faintly... familiar, a younger, bouncier parallel to the woman Beau had just met.

“Fjord,” said the girl, hopping up from her seat in excitement. “Fjord, look! Someone else got here. Finally!”

Her eyes swung to Beau, and Beau couldn’t remember the last time anyone _ever_ looked so happy to see her.

‘Hello, angry teen,” said the girl, waving cheerily at her. She spoke in a noticeable accent that sounded vaguely Eastern European. “My mom says if you frown that hard, your face is gonna stick like that. But your frown is _pretty_ fantastic, so I think it’d be okay even if your face did stick like that! Want to come sit beside me?”

Beau didn’t know why, but she went, more than a bit tongue-tied. She sat next to the manic blue-haired girl.

“I’m Jester,” said the manic blue-haired girl. She grabbed the hand of the boy on her other side. “This is Fjord! He’s my best friend.”

“We met three hours ago,” said Fjord in a startlingly Southern drawl. It was hard to tell whether he was bemused, exasperated, or both.

“So?” shot back Jester. “You promised we could be best friends. Are you breaking that promise already?”

“No,” he said, quirking his mouth. “No, I was raised better than that.”

“Good!” said Jester, apparently satisfied. She turned the overwhelming force of her attention back on Beau. “So? What’s your name, how old are you, why are you here??”

Fjord winced. “Maybe not all at once, Jester.” He gave Beau an apologetic look. “Caduceus told us we were all gonna introduce ourselves to the group later, and we won’t be forced to share anything we don’t wanna. But it would be nice to know your name.”

Beau blinked, overwhelmed. She was pretty sure the wall of words from Fjord and Jester was the most anyone who wasn’t Dairon had talked to Beau in months.

Eventually she recovered enough to say, “Beauregard. I’m fifteen.”

Jester beamed at this answer. “Holy shit! I just turned fifteen in February! This is fate, Beau—can I call you Beau??—we were totally meant to be friends, just like Fjord and I were meant to be friends.”

Her throat felt tight, for some reason. “...Yeah. ‘Beau’ is fine.”

She spent the next ten minutes trapped in conversation with Jester and Fjord, and it was weird because—she didn’t fully hate it? Jester was loud and talked fast, and Fjord was irritatingly well-adjusted and polite for a supposed fellow _fuck-up_ , but the both of them were also... nice.

They didn’t treat her like a pariah or a delinquent or a stupid kid.

(Her dad used to tell her the reason she never had any friends was because she had a terrible personality, was a useless sack of shit, etcetera, etcetera. Her guidance counsellor told her it was because she had deep-seated anger issues and needed to “develop a better grasp of social cues.” Fjord and Jester talked to her like none of that mattered, like none of that crap was crawling through Beau’s veins and sending out that screaming scent: T _HIS KID IS A LOSER ASSHOLE.)_

After the ten minutes, a pasty, scrawny white boy with coppery red hair and a strong aversion to eye contact trudged in. Beau thought he came alone until she got a better look and saw sticking close to his side a tiny, bony girl with long, tangled black hair, a shiny nose ring, and sharp, beady eyes. They walked with hunched shoulders and darting gazes, like they were expecting to be jumped or something.

They took their seats but before Jester could get started on breaking through _their_ walls of ice, two new arrivals immediately drew all the eyes in the room.

The girl was 6’3” and crazy pale and built like a pro wrestler. She had that heterochromatic eyes shit like she was Mila Kunis on stereoids. Her face looked like it was chiseled from stone, her eyes passing over the room once, her lip not twitching at all. The kid with her was her opposite in every way: four inches shorter and positively lanky in comparison, grinning like the Joker with short, gelled bright purple hair, more ear and nose and brow and lip piercings than Beau had fingers, and a tight V-neck T-shirt with a neckline swooped so low Beau almost expected to see some truly impressive cleavage. In cursive font across the front was printed the words “HE/HIM,” and when the kid flopped himself down in a chair, Beau saw more looping print on the back of the shirt reading simply, “...FOR NOW.”

With everyone seated, Caduceus passed around cups of tea, placing a tray of cream and sugar and what looked like oatmeal cookies in the centre of the table.

“I’m Caduceus, but I already told most of you that,” he began, scratching at his mohawk. What would be a nervous gesture on someone else looked calm and deliberate when done by this dude. “I’m twenty-eight, I was in the system for a couple months when I was a teen, and now I’m a PhD candidate working with you guys. I like tea, scented candles, and true crime podcasts.” He sat down and took a careful sip from his cup. “Your turn. Please, ah, tell us your preferred name and share as much or as little about yourself and why you’re here as you want.”

The purple-haired kid was immediately to his right, so he jumped for the chance to speak, leaning forward in his seat eagerly. “I’m Mollymauk. You can call me Molly if we’re friends. Or even if we’re not friends, I don’t really care. I’m sixteen, I’m very weird, I am utterly charmed to make all of your acquaintances.” He smiled wider, too much teeth. “I’ve been in the system for as long as I can remember. I will not be taking any questions, thank you.”

Then he sat back, clearly immensely satisfied with his own jauntiness.

Beau instantly decided she hated him.

Just when he seemed done, Molly suddenly perked up again, jabbing a thumb at the huge, buff girl beside him. “Oh, I’m also with this one, Yasha. She’s the charm of the family.”

Caduceus nodded, and it was the first indication from him that he hadn’t fallen asleep during Molly’s airy intro and left the fuck-ups to their own devices. “How about you introduce yourself, Yasha?”

“I’m Yasha,” she said. She had a very soft voice, but spoke so flatly that Beau immediately felt like she personally did something to wrong Yasha. “I’m seventeen. I live with Molly. That’s it.”

“Oh!” squeaked tiny nose-ring girl. She’d squeezed herself against one side of her chair, trying to put as much distance between herself and Yasha and get as close to the ginger-haired boy as she could. “Oh, I suppose that means it’s my turn? I’m Nott. I’m almost fourteen, but—wait! I don’t have to tell you that. Fuck you. Um, I like shiny things. Caleb says I’m a klepto. My doctor says I should stop drinking because I’m too young but he doesn’t know shit.” She tugged on the sleeve of the boy. “Your turn.”

Beau had to commend the kid—Nott managed to get through her whole tough-delinquent speech while sounding absolutely terrified and just unhinged enough that even Beau didn’t really wanna mess with her.

“ _Ja,_ ” muttered the boy, “ _ja,_ I see that, thank you, Nott. I am Caleb Widogast. I’m seventeen. I am here because my guidance counsellor finds my withdrawn behavior very concerning. That is all.”

 _Shit._ Now seven pairs of eyes swung to Beau. Her heart jumped into her throat, but she tried to summon her best drawl, the one that told everyone she didn’t give a fuck and she wasn’t scared.

“Right. Hey.” She rounded her shoulders, decided to stare at Jester. Jester had been nice to her. “I’m Beauregard. Fifteen. I don’t really wanna be here.”

“That’s great,” Caduceus said happily. “I’m very glad you’re honest.”

Beau decided she didn’t care much for Caduceus either.

“So now it’s me!” said Jester, hopping to her feet in excitement. “I am Jester. The Ruby—I mean Dr. Lavorre—is my mom, which means I’m not _technically_ a foster kid, technically, but I am home schooled and I do have court-mandated therapy—it is a long, very _good_ story—so I am here to do that and make new friends! I also bake the best cupcakes in the world, and I really, really would like a puppy. Fjord is my best friend, and Beau here is my other best friend.”

Jester reached out then to wrap an arm around Beau’s shoulders, all chummy. At the contact, Beau felt her muscles seize up, her heartbeat quicken, but she also found herself leaning into the other girl’s warmth. When was the last time someone who she wasn’t in a fistfight with had touched her?

(Dairon always planted a careful physical distance between herself and Beau. Dairon was pretty smart.)

Then, Jester suddenly withdrew, eyes widening.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “I’m sorry! My mom always tells me it is very important to ask permission before you touch someone unless you know they are okay with it. But I just got so excited. Fuck. Sorry.”

Beau looked away. “It’s fine,” she said roughly.

When she looked back, Jester had her lips pursed and Fjord on Jester’s other side shot her a friendly wink. “She’s already hugged me a couple times, too,” he said conspiratorially. Then he raised his arms in surrender when Jester swung probably-sad puppy eyes at him. “I don’t mind it, though, I told ya so.”

“Yeah,” Beau mumbled, dropping her gaze again. “Neither did I. Whatever.”

To break the ensuing awkward silence, Fjord finally jumped into his introduction.

“Well, Jester already introduced me, sort of. I’m Fjord. I’m sixteen, and I’ve been in the system since I was a pretty young kid. I’m here ’cause—well, I’m sure we’ll get to that. I’m here. That’s about it.”

“This is great,” said Caduceus. “This group seems just great. I’m very excited to hang out with you all.” He stood up. “Let me top up the tea and cookies.”

He went to the snack station he’d set up in the corner of the room to do just that.

Everyone traded awkward glances.

“Um,” said Nott, “has anyone actually tried the tea??”

“No one’s even touched the shit he’s already put out,” Molly said what they were all thinking, staring at the full tray still at the centre of the table. “He is so out of it.”

“He is so _stoned_ ,” muttered Beau.

“He can still hear you,” said Caduceus, perfectly pleasantly.

Molly just smirked, totally unconcerned. Jester giggled, Fjord face-palmed, Caleb continued to avoid eye contact. Nott began drumming her fingers nervously on the table, and Yasha rolled her eyes at Molly.

Beau heaved a sigh, and poured herself a cup of tea.

This was gonna be one long summer.


	2. Games and Groundwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story will take many creative liberties with how therapy works. it will also contain some true shit on how therapy works.

_Fuck-Up Support Group,_ Beau thought to herself grimly, resting her chin on the table. _Week one._

After the snack situation got sorted out, Caduceus went over boring rules stuff, as if they were in an elementary school classroom—don’t hit each other, don’t skip sessions, respect boundaries, respect each other, everyone contributes to making this a safe space, blah, blah, blah. Then there were therapy rules, too. Those were a bit more interesting.

“First of all,” Caduceus said, “confidentiality. Nothing anyone says here is to leave this room.”

“What happens in therapy, stays in therapy,” Molly snarked.

Beau had to stifle a snort at that. Molly noticed, and shot her a smarmy, toothy smirk from across the table. She scowled back. She still didn’t like him.

“Next,” said Caduceus, unfazed, “it’s clear there are already some bonds within this group.” He shot a look at each of them, at the little clusters that had inevitably formed. “I can’t forbid you from seeing each other outside of sessions—nor do I wish to—but I do encourage you to build _healthy_ , therapeutic connections with one another.”

“That means no fucking,” Jester stage-whispered.

Molly gasped exaggeratedly, Caleb coughed, and Fjord—was he blushing?

“That, too,” said Caduceus, still calm. “Ah... entanglements within the group would make it hard for the people involved to be totally honest about their feelings during sessions, and this would stop being a 100% safe space. Best to avoid all that, right?”

Beau shot an obnoxious wink at Yasha. “Too bad,” she drawled.

Yasha herself just perked a brow, unimpressed, but now Molly was the one staring daggers. Beau smirked.

Caduceus, too, shot Beau a look, one that was scarily impossible to decipher. Still, she understood it to be a warning.

“Finally,” he forged on, “this whole thing does work better if you all actually participate. So I’d appreciate if you guys did that. Some weeks we might end up focusing more on some members more than others, but it’d be great if everyone contributes something every week.”

“What happens if we don’t?” Beau couldn’t stop herself from being a brat. She sneered, continuing sarcastically, “Will we fail the course? Will this go on my transcript?”

Caduceus only shrugged, his infuriating calm and amicability still intact. “Well, I suppose I can’t force any of you to do anything,” he said. “But you’re all here to help yourselves. Hopefully. It’s sure not hurting me if you refuse to give this a try.” He smiled wryly, then. “It might make me a little sad, though.”

“A tragedy,” Nott muttered under her breath.

“No one wants to make you sad,” Jester said earnestly, louder than Nott. “ _Right,_ Beau?”

Jester gave her a pointed look, but her mischievous grin took all the bite out of the reprimand.

In the end, Beau rolled her eyes, sitting up in her chair and stretching her arms above her head. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Great,” said Caduceus, pleased. “You’re already all doing a fantastic job already. I mean—everyone introduced themselves! That’s fantastic.”

He took another sip of tea. Jester refilled her plate with cookies.

Fjord cleared his throat. “Okay... so what now?”

“Oh, right. Now,” Caduceus got up from his seat, “do you all know the rules to Monopoly?”

***

It turned out they did _not_ all know the rules to Monopoly. Of the entire group, only Beau, Caleb, and Fjord had admitted to being familiar with the game.

“Jeez,” Beau said. “How can y’all not have played this? Did none of you have a goddamn childhood??”

“I mean,” countered Molly, grinning wolfishly, “we’re all _here_ , aren’t we?”

 _Shit._ He had a point.

“Okay,” she grumbled, going back to help Fjord set up the game, “yeah, you got me there.”

“Well, I had a childhood,” Caleb said quietly, startling nearly everyone. He neatly laid the stack of Community Chest cards on the board. “Just for the record.”

“Same here,” Fjord offered. “A crap one, but it was mine.”

“My childhood was great,” Jester said brightly. “Everything is much, much better right now, though.”

“Why are you even here??” Nott blurted, startling everyone again _._ She looked at Caduceus accusingly. “Why is she even here??”

Jester was unfazed. “Shit,” she just said. “You forgot to tell them that other thing, Deuce!”

“I was leaving it till the end,” he said, shrugging. “But yeah. Since Miss Jester’s not a foster child, her experiences do differ a lot from you guys. If any of you think you’d feel safer or more willing to open up without her in the group, please let me know. You can tell me in private and I’ll keep it anonymous, if that’s what you prefer.”

Nott narrowed her eyes at Jester. “Can I have one of your rings?”

“Hmm.” Jester tapped her chin, and then a devilish smile curled across her lips. “You said you’re like a thief or something, right? Steal a ring off of me, and you can keep it!”

“Deal,” Nott said quickly. She looked back at Caduceus, announcing, “She can stay.”

“I like having you here,” Yasha said out of nowhere, looking straight at Jester. It was the first time she’d spoken since her curt intro. “It’s... you have a nice energy. The rest of this group is too depressing.”

Molly snickered and blew her a kiss, while Nott and Beau gaped at her, just a little.

“You’re literally an emo goth stereotype,” Nott yelled, exasperated. Then, seeming to realize what she’d said to the emo goth over six feet tall, she flinched and darted behind Caleb. “Ah, god. Please don’t hurt me!”

Yasha shrugged. “I’m not offended.”

“I told you,” Molly said airily, “she’s the charm.”

“Well,” Caleb said, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “I agree with the big one. It is good to have a... different perspective, I think.”

“Well, _I_ think you’re utterly delightful, dear,” Molly said, winking at Jester. “I can’t be the only pretty one in this group, after all. I’d get conceited.”

“Too late,” muttered Yasha. But she was smiling, just a bit.

That was more shocking than anything else so far. Yasha could smile?

“This is so nice, you guys,” Jester said. “We’re like a real group, almost! And I’d really like to stay, but...”

She looked to where Fjord and Beau had just finished organizing the messy stack of property cards and paper money. Beau had been absently shuffling the blue and green property cards between her fingers, most of her attention having been focused on listening to the group bicker and banter about Jester instead of actually helping Fjord set up. When she met Jester’s curious eyes, she hastily dropped the cards and tried to look busy, feeling ridiculously like she had been caught, somehow. Why? It wasn’t like she was _eavesdropping_.

“It’s just,” Jester continued, “Beau and Fjord haven’t said anything yet. Are you guys okay with, you know... me? Being here? Like, I won’t be mad if you say no. Or if you don’t want to say anything at all right now.” She started fidgeting with a ring on her index finger. “Shit. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, then. Shit. Fuck. Sorry.”

Beau and Fjord exchanged looks. Beau wasn’t quite sure what the looks _meant_ , but it felt oddly good, like there was some kind of solidarity or understanding between him and her. It was a new feeling.

“C’mon,” Fjord said, “of course I want you to stay in the group. You and me, we’re best friends, remember?” He winked. Smooth fucker. “We did promise, after all.”

So now it was just Beau. What was there to say? Jester had been the first kid her age to be nice to Beau in... months, probably. Maybe the first one ever to immediately _like_ Beau, to actively want to be _friends_ with her. The absolute last thing she wanted was for Jester to leave her so soon.

But she couldn’t _say_ that.

She turned back to the board, refusing to look at Jester’s face. “Widogast’s got a point,” she drawled, “this would just be a mopey shit-fest without you around. Now are we fucking playing Monopoly or what?”

Jester didn’t say anything more, but when everyone gathered around the board, Beau finally lifted her gaze, and saw that Jester was absolutely beaming, her eyes all soft and happy. When Fjord noticed Beau looking, he shot her a small smile and nod, as well.

She hastily looked away again, ears burning.

***

They went over the basics but didn’t really have enough time to fully explain the rules, so Fjord suggested they just start the game and teach the others as they go.

That turned out to be a terrible fucking plan.

It was quickly revealed that no matter how pleasant/aloof/withdrawn Fjord, Yasha, and Caleb appeared, all three of them were insanely competitive. Beau swore she felt goosebumps on her neck in response to the absolute _death glare_ Yasha aimed at her when Beau outbid her on an auction for Park Place. She took an unconscious step away from the bigger girl and edged a little closer to Fjord and Jester. Of course, Molly noticed this and snickered at her, the asshole.

Meanwhile, Fjord and Caleb kept bickering over what the rules were since none of them seemed to remember everything exactly and _of course_ the box was missing the rulebook.

“Just let. Me. Look. It. Up,” Caleb said, palms flat on the table and eyes alight with fire. This was the most straight-backed she had seen Caleb all session; usually he looked like he was trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. “Technology is a wonderful thing, _ja,_ we have this great invention called a smartphone now.”

“Well, not all of us walk around with goddamn iPads or whatever the fuck,” Fjord shot back. “’Sides, Caduceus over there told us cell phones weren’t allowed during sessions.”

They glanced at Caduceus. He looked like he was asleep in his chair, but Beau knew better. Earlier Jester blew lightly into his ear to check if he was truly unconscious, and Caduceus carefully didn’t react at all, didn’t give an inch—if he was really asleep, he would have unconsciously responded to the stimulus or woken up.

She wasn’t sure why, but she kept her mouth shut about it. Maybe she was curious how everything would play out.

“Just give it a rest already,” she yelled finally, once Fjord and Caleb went back to squabbling. “This doesn’t even _matter._ House rule—let’s say if you’re kicked out of jail after three turns, you don’t have to pay the bail. Like, you did the fucking time, right?? Done.”

“You cannot just call everything a house rule,” Caleb argued, exasperated.

It was true that Beau had interrupted every disagreement so far by loudly yelling, “OKAY. HOUSE RULE.” But she knew Caleb only complained now because this one favoured Fjord.

“Beau’s right,” said Fjord, not quite managing to cover up his smugness. “Let’s just call it a house rule and move on, shall we?”

“Finally!” said Jester, reaching for the dice.

Beau was 80% sure that they were all playing the game wrong, but she was even more sure that Jester had tuned out all of their explanations and was playing by a different set of rules entirely, which only Jester herself seemed to understand.

“I did it!” she exclaimed at one point. She fanned out her thick stack of properties. “A rainbow! I got one of every colour! Except orange, orange is gross.”

This caused a small uproar, as Caleb and Fjord and—okay, Beau, too, maybe she got a _little_ into it—immediately started complaining about Jester monopoly-blocking everyone.

“Well, I think your collection is lovely, Jester,” said Yasha, lip twitching. “Good job.”

“You’re only saying that ’cause you’re the only one who _has_ a monopoly,” Beau said, indignant. It was true—Yasha had already built, like, nine houses on the orange properties.

Nott was oddly quiet throughout the whole incident, and Molly just laughed and earnestly told Jester her portfolio was beautiful.

Eventually Jester brokered deals with everyone to stop the arguments, giving everyone a chance to not just get obliterated by Yasha.

Molly spent pretty much the whole game just shuffling around the few properties he’d managed to pick up as though they were poker cards. He kept distracting Jester with grade-school level magic tricks, that stupid grin on his lips the whole time. He didn’t seem to care about what was happening in the game one way or another, but kept rolling insanely high numbers anyway. Lucky motherfucker was just breezily running laps around everyone and collecting piles of Go money while the rest of them had to _work_ and _suffer_.

At one point, Molly rolled _another_ 12 and Beau shot out of her seat, blurting, “Are you fucking kidding me? You cheating motherfucker!”

To which Molly replied, “It’s fucking Monopoly, how the fuck do I cheat at _Monopoly?_ ”

“Oh, so now you’re the Monopoly expert?? You didn’t even know what Monopoly was like thirty minutes ago!”

“Well, it’s not exactly the most sophisticated game in the world, is it?”

“Monopoly’s not good enough for you then?” Beau was really getting riled up now. “What, you fucking play Civ 5 or something? I’ll _destroy_ your ass on Civ 5.”

“What the fuck is Civ 5?” cried Molly. “And trust me, darling, you’re the _last_ person I’d want to destroy my ass.”

This made Beau feel like a nerd and also super gross, so she was seriously considering trying to fight Molly until Fjord broke up their argument and made them both sit down. Beau was secretly grateful for that because, while she was sure she could kick Molly’s ass, she also suspected Yasha would straight-up _murder_ her if she did anything to that slimy fucker.

As for Nott, she initially seemed far more interested in the silver little player pieces than the game itself. Once she managed to shove all the unused pieces into her pockets, however, she shifted her attention to the game, and Beau swore she could see gears turning behind the twitchy girl’s gleaming eyes.

Nevertheless, Nott spent most of the game just loudly backing Caleb in all of the rule disputes, and intermittently trying to slip a ring off of Jester’s fingers and getting caught each time. Then, Beau left for, like, _two minutes_ to use the washroom, and when she came back, Caleb had built five hotels on his turn, all along the southern side of the board.

“What the fuck??” She shot an incredulous look at Fjord, the only one she sort of trusted in all this mess. “What the hell happened?”

“Some _shady_ fucking business,” Fjord said grimly. “Some real under-the-table dealings.”

“Everything was very above-board,” Nott announced. “All parties were satisfied with their trades.”

“Nott started trading properties with Jester when we weren’t paying attention,” Yasha explained. “Then she just gave everything to Caleb so he could develop his properties.”

“It was a _fair and legal_ trade,” Nott said indignantly. “I gave Caleb four property cards, and he gave me four dollars. Now he can win, because he is a winner.”

“Well,” said Caleb with a shrug, “it is not against the rules, so...”

“You’re shameless,” Molly said. A wide grin. “I’m almost impressed.”

“Fuck you guys,” said Beau. “This is literally fucking collusion!”

“You are using the word ‘literally’ wrong.”

“Shut _up_ , Widogast.” Beau turned to Jester, demanding, “What did that little goblin offer you?”

Jester shrugged. “You know. Candy, friendship, a cool magic trick.” She beamed. “Also, like, almost all of her money. That was good.”

Beau heaved a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Beau,” Jester said brightly. She leaned forward and, slow enough so Beau could move away if she wanted to, reached out a finger to boop her lightly on the nose. “I promise to share the candy with you! But you have to take, like, the gross ones, like the Rockets.”

After that, Caduceus “woke up” and announced it was about time to end the session, and made them all clean up the game. In the end it felt too pointless to count up everyone’s net worth so Fjord declared it was a tie between everyone but Nott, who “corrupted the spirit of Monopoly,” and Mollymauk, who declared that “today was all an extended lesson on the dangers of capitalism.”

“You guys did a great job this morning,” said Caduceus. “I’m so excited. See you next week, okay?”

As they all began to shuffle awkwardly out of the dining room, not quite sure what to say to each other now that they weren’t being forced to interact, Caduceus smiled at Beau on her way out.

“Good work today,” he said in his slow, pleasant way.

Beau gave him her best _what the fuck_ look and made a beeline to the front door.

***

Gathered at the bottom of the Lavorre residence’s front doorsteps, only Fjord, Jester, and Molly were still hanging around. Behind them, Dairon’s car was parked in the street.

It was like a platform video game: to get to the safety of the car, Beauregard would have to pass through Casual Teen Interaction.

She felt a silly anxiety stir in the pit of her stomach as she approached—she had no idea how to talk to these people outside of the context of that therapy dining room without being a total asshole. It was just in her _nature_ to be a total asshole, which was probably why no one ever kept her around. She was used to it, usually.

But she thought of Fjord exchanging knowing looks with her as if they shared some sort of inside joke, or Jester and her nose boop and that impulsive hug like they were those happy, girly best friends Beau always saw wrapped up in each other in every school hallway, and she thought, _I don’t want them to figure out I’m an asshole yet. I want them to keep me around._

In the end, she didn’t have to worry because—well, Molly was there too, and Molly she couldn’t give less of a shit about.

When he saw her, he did that grin that showed too many teeth, and flipped her the bird.

She flicked her middle finger at him in response, drawled, “Fuck you too,” and vaulted over the front step railing so she wouldn’t have to push past the three of them. Landed on the driveway on the balls of her feet.

Molly scoffed, but Jester clapped and yelled, “Wow, that was so _cool,_ Beau!”

“Not bad,” Fjord said easily. “I’d probably fall flat on my face if I tried that stunt.”

Beau rolled her shoulders, all nonchalant, but secretly she was thrilled. “Whatever,” she said, hint of a smirk. She rose a hand in goodbye, jabbed a thumb at Dairon’s car. “There’s my ride. See ya.”

And made a beeline down the driveway, very badly wanting to fist pump at how cool and smooth she just was. Then:

“Bye, Beau!” called Jester from behind her. “Friend me on Facebook, bitch!”

Beau stumbled, almost tripping into the street but catching herself at the last moment. She practically threw herself into the passenger’s seat of the car. _Goodbye, cool and smooth._

Dairon started the engine. “Was it that bad?” she deadpanned.

Beau shrugged, stared out the window. “Dunno.” She paused, fiddled with the radio station. “Not terrible.”

“You were charging for my car like a mad bull.”

“Just hungry for lunch,” Beau said hastily.

“Hmm.” Dairon switched the station back to NPR. Of course. “Did you make any new friends?”

“What? _No._ ” She scoffed. Peeked sideways at Dairon driving calm as ever. “...Well. Maybe. Sort of, I think.”

“I’m glad,” Dairon said simply, mouth twitching into a smile.

Beau flushed. Okay, so Dairon totally saw/heard her exchange with Jester, Fjord, and Molly. That’s fine.

They drove in semi-comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Beau stopped zoning out and mentally replaying the events of the morning long enough to notice the actual streets rushing by outside.

“This isn’t the way back to the house,” she said, instantly suspicious.

“I thought we could eat out for lunch,” said Dairon, “and you could tell me about your morning. How do you feel about McDonald’s?”

Beau resisted the urge to openly gape. Dairon was a zealous health nut, to truly aggravating levels. The unhealthiest thing she’d let Beau eat in her presence since she had moved in was a bag of vegetable chips this one time.

“Man, you’re not pulling my leg, right?” Beau bit back a grin. “Like, if this is a trick, that would be truly fucking cruel. I’d have to call my caseworker and report you _immediately._ ”

Dairon rolled her eyes. “It’s not a trick. Get a Big McMeal or whatever it is, and try not to develop a heart disease. My treat.”

Beau laughed, giddy. “Like, you know I’ve totally eaten junk while I’m away at school and shit, right?”

“I know, and I know I can’t stop you,” Dairon said ruefully.

“No, no, this is _dope._ You called it a _McMeal._ Have you never eaten McDonald’s?? Do you even know what a chicken nugget is? Oh my god, I’m going to record you eating a Big Mac and post it on YouTube. You’ll go viral.”

“Yes, my lifetime goal,” she said drily. “Validation from the Internet.”

“It’ll be called, ‘Constipated Drill Sergeant Lady Tries Big Mac For the First Time, Is Not Impressed’. Working title.”

“I don’t suffer from constipation precisely because I maintain a healthy lifestyle.”

“Oh my god. Say that again, I’m getting my phone out.”

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea after all,” Dairon said sourly, but there was still that exasperated little smile on her lips, so Beau knew she was safe.

She really did pull out her phone, then. Shining from her screen was a new Facebook notification: _Jester Lavorre wants to be friends with you._

Underneath, a message: _FOUND YOU FIRST!!! :D Add Fjord and Molly too!!!_

Beau settled back in her seat, failing this time to hide her smile.

“Fuck,” she said, “I’m gonna eat so many goddamn chicken nuggets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst/sad shit is gonna start building. but for now, the warmth and giddiness of new connections. love you all <3


	3. Playing Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone: let's talk about feelings  
> m9: deflect deFLECT DEFLEct
> 
> love these assholes. love you guys ♡

“I thought the point of summer vacation,” complained Beau, “was that I, y’know, get a fucking _vacation._ ”

“Please watch your language,” said Dairon.

Beau shot her a dirty look. Her current estimation was that Dairon called her out once for approximately every ten times that Beau cursed. At this point the reprimand was more of a half-assed formality. The weird thing about Dairon, though, was that being in public seemed to have absolutely no bearing on how frequently she decided to get pissed about Beau’s swearing.

Which was fortunate because Beau had been swearing a _lot_ , maybe because it was 9 a.m. and they were at a fucking Wal-Mart.

The problem with summer vacation was that not only did Beau get the three months off, but so did her foster parent, as someone who worked at a high school.

Beau draped herself over the shopping cart, still glaring. “So are _your_ vacation plans to just make _my_ summer as lame as possible?”

Dairon didn’t look up from where she was intently examining different watering cans. “What would you be doing if I wasn’t ‘making your summer as lame as possible’ right now, Beauregard?”

“I’d be in bed, _sleeping._ You know, like teenagers do at 9 a.m. on a day with _no school_.”

“I get up at 6 a.m. every day. I was letting you sleep in.”

“That,” grumbled Beau, “is very in-character for you.” She brightened as an idea struck her. “Can I climb into the cart and sleep there?”

“No.”

“I hate this.”

They spent almost an hour wandering around Wal-Mart, loading their shopping cart with... a heck of a lot of gardening tools, really. And soil. And seeds. Beau pushed the cart for most of the trip, trailing behind Dairon and alternating between spacing out and loudly complaining.

In the few months Beau had spent living with her, she learned that Dairon was a big fan of “projects.” She figured this weird garden fixation was just her latest one. A lot of the time, Beau was pretty sure she herself was one of Dairon’s projects as well.

 _Well, sucks to be her,_ thought Beau. She was nobody’s fixer-upper.

When the shopping cart was verging on full, Dairon gave her this inscrutable look. “How’s your arm?”

“What?” Beau scowled. Her final physical therapy session had been over a month ago, but Dairon was still being annoying about the whole thing. “Jesus fuck, I’m fine _._ Calm down.”

“And here I thought you would love any opportunity to slack off.”

Beau considered this. “True.” She slouched away from the cart. “Go nuts with that, then. I’m gonna hit McDonald’s _._ ”

“You had breakfast not ninety minutes ago.”

“And yet, I’m still starving for some French fries.”

Dairon rolled her eyes. “Sometimes it seems to me that you could eat six square meals a day.”

“Probably.” Beau grinned. “My dad always says I’m just at that age.”

And—shit. That instantly killed her barely-begun good mood, replacing it with sudden exhaustion, frustration, an ache in her chest. An awkward beat of silence hung between her and Dairon, just like every other time her father came up in conversation.

(Beau wondered what he was doing right now. It was a Friday morning, so he was probably at the office, scheduling Skype meetings or intimidating his staff or... whatever it was that he did at work. She didn’t really know. Did he miss her at all?)

“Well, yes,” said Dairon smoothly. “I’ve heard that as well. I suppose I’ll just have to get used to having a teenager around.”

“You don’t have to fucking get _used_ to it,” Beau retorted, abruptly very irritated. “Just dump me to the next placement, if I’m such a damn bother.”

“Beauregard—you know that’s not what I meant.” Dairon sighed. “Nevertheless, I apologize for being insensitive.”

“Whatever.” Beau turned away.

“Are you really going to McDonald’s?” she said, exasperated. “We’re almost done here. I was going to ask you to pick out some seeds.”

“I don’t care about your dumb seeds.” A part of her knew she was being stubborn and childish, but that was fine. She was used to it. “Text me when we can leave.”

With that, Beau slunk off to McDonald’s. She didn’t order fries.

***

Dairon wasn’t one for awkward silences after an argument, especially since Beau probably blew up on her about 3-4 times a day. So on the car ride back home, Beau expected the usual calm but stern lecture that came about communication, not storming off, et cetera. Dairon was nothing if not consistent.

It was kind of a relief, really. It was a million times better than leaving Beau in suspense, her stomach churning with dread as she wondered whether she was in trouble or not, if her transgression had been forgotten or if there was some invisible ticking time bomb of rage somewhere that could go off on her after any arbitrary number of heartbeats.

Yeah, consistency was better.

Dairon mercifully left her alone for a couple of hours once they got back to the house, time that Beau planned to use to catch up on sleep and maybe mindlessly scroll through some apps.

Beau didn’t spend much time on her phone—she didn’t exactly have a surplus of close friends. In the past she would occasionally text the shitty college kid who hooked her up with weed and booze, but only to set up meetings. Contrary to what her father thought, even Beau’s short-lived little side business relied on word of mouth rather than some convoluted digital crime network.

Since changing schools and moving into Dairon’s place, she hadn’t found much reason to use her phone at all.

Now, though, there were two new names on her Facebook contacts list that made something in Beau’s chest buzz every time she saw them. Not that she had actually talked to anyone from group since meeting them at that first session.

At 10:30 in the morning, almost everyone she knew was still offline. _Teenagers_.

But there was a little green circle next to Fjord’s name. _Active now._ Beau tapped.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the little cursor blinking at her from a blank white message box.

Then she shoved her phone under a pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.

***

The rest of the week passed quicker than she expected. Beau was right about gardening being Dairon’s new project: she had this whole idea of redoing the entire backyard, planting colourful flowers and starting a little vegetable garden, maybe adding a cute stone path and shit. She expected Beau to help.

Surprising everyone, most of all herself, Beau went along with it. _For now._

They spent a lot of time Googling DIY backyard makeover tips, and even more time actually working in the yard, baking under the hot summer sun. At first, Beau complained.

“Is this a punishment or something? Am I grounded again?” Grounded with Dairon never meant being cloistered in her room: there was always some active element to it, usually in the form of labour. Over the past three months, Beau had sorted through their old lady neighbor’s recycling too many times to count.

“You’re not grounded.” Dairon’s mouth quirked. “I just thought this was something we could do together.”

Translation: she was scared of what kind of trouble Beau might get into if she had too much free time. _Whatever_. Manual labour and watching YouTube videos with Dairon of middle-aged white people talking about lawn aesthetics were things to occupy her time, at least. It beat staring at the glare of her phone screen, stalking Fjord or Jester’s (admittedly fairly barebones) Facebook pages and pussying out on actually texting them. She never did get around to adding Mollymauk.

(Jester had sent her another message since adding her, something about Yasha not responding to Jester’s friend request and how she couldn’t find Caleb or Nott on Facebook. Beau had no idea what to reply to that. _Lol_ felt insufficient, somehow. She left her on “read,” like a dick.)

Beau also went jogging every evening, when Dairon holed herself up in her study and the sun wasn’t as overbearing as it was during the day. This suburban neighbourhood felt eerily similar to Beau’s own, even though her house—her dad’s house—was halfway across the city. Sometimes Beau would set her body on autopilot and she would run, and run, and when her surroundings came into focus around her—brick houses, kids playing driveway basketball, soccer-mom minivans everywhere—it honestly felt like if she just turned the next corner, she would be home. She would see her dad’s Mercedes pull into their garage, just like that.

After a moment, Beau would snap out of it, cuss and realize she had no idea where the hell she was. She pulled out her phone, consulting Google Maps for directions back to Dairon’s house.

***

Then, it was Thursday again.

“I’ll pick you up at noon,” said Dairon, not following her into the Lavorre residence this time. “Or would you prefer I come later, so you can spend some time with your friends?”

Beau flushed. “Noon is fine.”

She hurried inside without saying goodbye.

Just like last time, the only people in the dining room were Caduceus, Jester, and Fjord. It made sense for Jester to be there—as far as Beau could understand, she _lived_ here. And Beau knew _she_ was here because Dairon was annoying about always arriving early, “just in case.” She wondered if maybe Fjord was the same way?

“What did you think a Pop-Tart _was,_ exactly?”

“I am just _saying_ , if you’re going to name a snack a “Pop-Tart,” it should involve a lollipop or a tart of some kind. You know, like—”

Jester cut herself off, then, perking up.

“Beau! You’re back!”

“Uh, yeah?” She dropped into the seat next to Jester. “I mean, I kinda don’t have a choice.”

“Aw.” Fjord smiled crookedly. “And here I thought it was ’cause ya liked us.”

Jester scoffed. “Of _course_ she likes us, Fjord. She likes us a lot. Right, Beau??”

She aimed a pair of sweet, earnest puppy eyes at her, and Beau’s words got stuck in her throat. She felt like an asshole deer in headlights.

Then Jester broke into snorting laughter, ruining the whole effect. Her eyes were more devilish than puppy-like, it turned out.

“I’m just fucking with you,” said Jester. “You don’t actually have to _say_ you like us or anything. For now.”

Beau slumped down in her seat. Her face felt hot. “Screw you,” she grumbled. But she didn’t really mean it.

Jester seemed to know that, since all she did was giggle some more and shoot her this ridiculous wink. Fjord offered her a sympathetic smile, shrugging one shoulder.

Caleb slunk in not long after, giving Jester a new target to latch onto.

“Hi, Caleb!” She beamed at him. “Aren’t you, like, really hot?”

He blinked at her, rounding his shoulders all defensively. “What?”

“I mean, like, it’s like 85 degrees out and you’re wearing these fucking layers.”

It was true. Caleb was wearing the same brown bomber jacket as he was last week, and what appeared to be a grey knit sweater underneath. Beau wondered how he wasn’t drenched in sweat.

Caleb just shrugged. “I get cold easily, that is all.”

“Where’s your little shadow today?” asked Fjord. (Beau’s eye twitched. If she said those exact words, she’d sound like a sarcastic dick. Coming from Fjord, though, it just felt friendly, laid-back.)

“I am sure she will be here soon enough,” Caleb said absently. “It’s not like we live together.”

Then he pulled out a book from his laptop bag and promptly became engrossed in it. _O-kay._ That was a blatant conversation killer if she ever saw one.

Still, she watched Jester’s eyes sparkle and in her gut she just _knew_ Jester was about to prod Caleb about something else. Whether Jester was oblivious to the snubbing or was taking it as a challenge, Beau couldn’t be sure.

Thankfully Caleb was rescued by the arrival of Molly and Yasha, joined at the hip just like last week. If possible, it was like Yasha was even taller and buffer than Beau remembered, and Molly had even more facial piercings. He was wearing this purple sleeveless tee today, really showing off the too-flashy half-sleeve tattoo curving all around his left bicep. She couldn’t even make out what that was supposed to _be._

“Hello, all. So fantastic to see everyone’s lovely faces again.” Molly winked at a giggling Jester, before twisting his mouth into a smirk and aiming a finger gun right at Beau. “Everyone except for _you,_ that is _._ You appear to be as unpleasant as ever.”

“And you’re as obnoxious as ever,” Beau retorted.

Molly chuckled, completely unbothered as he flopped into his chair. “Fair enough.”

Yasha sat down beside Molly, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between him and Beau. It felt almost like the kind of look a bodyguard would give, which admittedly freaked Beau out just a little. It wouldn’t be the first time Beau flung herself into a losing fight, but still.

“Ya- _shaaa._ ” Count on Jester to cut through the unique tension. “You didn’t accept my friend request on Facebook. I mean, I’m not gonna say you _have_ to, buuuut...”

“Oh.” Yasha’s arms uncrossed. They rested awkwardly on her legs. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just don’t check Facebook very often. Mollymauk made it for me.”

“Oh, yeah!” Jester brightened. “I saw him tag you in a lot of selfies. Like, _a lot,_ a lot. Do you post one every day, Molly?”

“Yeah, he’s a ho,” Yasha deadpanned, at the same time as Molly drawled, “Well, it would be selfish to deprive the world of this pretty face, don’t you think?”

“Oh my gosh.” Jester gasped. “I have a _great_ idea. We should take one together.”

Molly gasped, too. “That _is_ a great idea.”

“We can take a group selfie! With everyone here!!!”

“Hard pass,” intoned Beau at the same time as Fjord said, “Yeah, no.” Caleb didn’t even bother looking up from his book.

“I think the image will be worth more with just the two of us.” Molly winked at Jester again. “Keep it pretty.”

Beau flipped him the bird.

Jester turned to Yasha. “But you’ll be in our selfie, too, right, Yasha? Look, here you are in all of Molly’s!”

She turned her phone screen toward everyone and flipped through a series of photos of Molly making various faces at the camera, usually accompanied by a lewd hand gesture. In the backdrop of each photo was a blurry elbow, or the bottom half of Yasha’s face (the rest of her was out of frame), or what appeared to be Yasha running on a treadmill, her back to the camera.

“Some of my finest photography work,” lilted Mollymauk. Yasha threw half an oatmeal cookie at him.

“Sure, Jester,” she said. “I’ll be in your selfie. Molly doesn’t give me much of a choice anyway.”

“Yes!” Jester fist-pumped, and then leaned across the table with her arm extended. “We’re gonna look so _hot._ Pinky promise?”

Yasha blinked and stared. She hooked her pinky around Jester’s.

“That means we’re best friends now,” declared Jester, beaming.

“It seems you are accumulating quite a lot of those,” Caleb said, still hidden behind his book. Beau was shocked that he’d even been listening.

“All right,” said Caduceus amiably, setting his usual kettle of tea on the table. “How about we save the social media stuff until after the session?”

“Fine by me,” muttered Fjord.

“Well, what’s on the agenda today, doc?” Beau drawled. “We gonna play Boggle this time?”

She saw Molly hide a snicker. It was both irritating and highly concerning that she was so often the same brand of asshole as him.

“I’m not a doctor,” said Caduceus, smiling. “And no. Sadly, no board games today. But you all did a great job with Monopoly last week. Just the best.”

The door burst open and slammed closed again. Nott scurried into the room, sliding into her chair beside Caleb.

“I’m here!” she said shrilly. “I’m not late!”

“You’re a little late,” Caduceus said. “But just a little.”

Caleb finally stowed away his book and laid a hand on Nott’s small, bony shoulder. Nott seemed to relax and even smile, so quick that Beau almost thought she imagined it. Then Nott and Caleb were both back to their slouchy, nervous selves.

“Now that we’ve gotten to know each other a little better, I thought I’d check in with you all.” Caduceus stirred his tea, smiling gently at each of them. “How about everybody shares a little about why they’re in this program, and what they hope to accomplish by the end of it?”

No one immediately volunteered to go first.

“I’ll give you a little time to think about it,” he said, a paragon of patience. “Although I’m not really a member of this group, I can tell you all a bit about why I’m here.

“Always really liked meeting interesting people. I’ve found that every person’s got so many layers, and so much to say, even if they don’t think so.” He sipped his tea, smiled into his cup. “I told you all I was in the system for a little while myself. Well, I met some of the most fascinating, complicated people in my life during my time in care. And the system is very rough. It’s flawed, and it’s messy, and I know none of you believe _I_ can fix it. But if I can help smooth out the terrain for you guys even a little bit, it’d mean something to me. So, please, never hesitate to let everybody know what kind of support you’re lookin’ for from this group.” He looked up at all of them again, suddenly wry. “Also, if I could finally finish this PhD thing, that’d be just great.”

Beau slumped down lower in her chair. “Well, aren’t you a saint,” she muttered.

“C’mon, Beau,” Fjord chided gently.

Caduceus only smiled. “Not really. Not at all, actually. But that’s not the point.”

“I will go first,” Caleb said abruptly, surprising everyone. “I already said I am here because my guidance counsellor had concerns about my withdrawn behavior. She thought I could benefit from gaining, ah, social skills in a controlled environment. As for me, I just hope by the end of this summer I will have contributed to the good of this group, somehow. That’s it.”

Beau narrowed her eyes at this skinny white boy with the German accent. Her bullshit radar was pinging off the charts. Then again, her bullshit radar was always pinging. A shrink once called her “unduly mistrustful.”

“What a saint,” she said again, this time directed at Caleb.

“Remember rule number one,” Caduceus cut in, voice harder than before. “Respect each other. Mr. Caleb, thank you for sharing.”

Yasha raised her hand, as though they were in a classroom. “Well, I am here because Molly is here.”

“And I’m here because Yasha is here,” supplied Molly.

Yasha heaved a sigh. “Mollymauk thinks I need _help._ But I think he’s too fucked up to judge.”

“Gustav thinks we both need way more therapy,” Molly said, grinning. He leaned forward in his chair, like he was letting everyone in on a secret. “Okay, so—eight months ago, Yasha shows up at our group home, right? She’s a problem kid, y’know, ’cause she’s run off from all of her placements for the past two and a half years or some shit—”

“You weren’t even conscious two and a half years ago,” Yasha interrupted.

“Uh. The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Molly shrugged. Smirked at the group’s confusion. “Long story. In any case, I am extremely well-adjusted for a crazy person, and I’m happy where I am, having a good time. Isn’t that in itself the end goal of all therapy?”

Yasha stared at him, arms folded.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Yasha thinks I have a ‘self-harm problem,’ so she’s stressed about it. My goal for the summer is to reach a level of ‘stable mental health’ where Yash is no longer so bloody worried. She’ll develop frown lines, and that’s the biggest tragedy of all.”

“Uh.” Fjord rubbed his cheek. “Wow. That was a lot.”

“They’re here to get help for _each other_ ,” said Nott. She gave Caleb a very pointed look. “Don’t you think that’s sweet? Commendable, even?”

“You know some big words for such a little kid,” muttered Beau.

“ _Excuse me?_ You’re only a year older than me, physically.” Nott glowered. “And mentally, fuck, that’s a completely different story.”

“What’s that supposed to mean??”

“Settle down,” said Caduceus, sounding like the laziest mediator in the world. “Let’s all play nice. And Molly, thank you for sharing.”

“Wait. _Yasha’s_ not done.”

She sighed. “Okay. Yes. I still go away a lot. That stresses Gustav out because it is technically not allowed. But I always come back.” Yasha shrugged, fidgeting with one of her bracelets. “Also, I am apparently violent. Also, angry. My goal for the summer is to learn to not punch people who don’t deserve it. And to find five new kinds of flowers for my book.”

“A great goal,” said Caduceus.

“You have a flower book?” Jester was excited. “That’s so cute, Yasha! Maybe I can help you find your flowers. I am really good at finding cool stuff in other people’s yards.”

Yasha hesitated. “That’s... a kind offer. Thank you.” She glanced around the room, eyes landing on Nott. “You. I nominate you to go next.”

“That’s not how it works!” protested Nott. “And why me??”

“Because you are the one beside me.”

“It does distress me that we did not go in a circle,” admitted Caleb.

“Fine,” Nott huffed. “I’m here ’cause of stealing shit, pickpocketing, alcoholism, anxiety...” She counted them off on her weirdly long fingers. “By the end of this program I want to be completely cured.”

“Er,” said Caduceus. “I suppose we didn’t quite cover the importance of ‘setting realistic goals,’ yet, so.”

“ _Fine._ I expect to be 50% less anxious by the end of the summer.”

“The fuck is 50% supposed to mean?” said Beau.

“Trust me,” Nott said knowingly. “I can tell.”

Fjord raised his brows at her, then. “Well, Beau. It’s you now, isn’t it?”

“Fuck.” She crossed her arms and leaned back, like Yasha did earlier. “Well, can’t beat your rap sheet, half-pint.”

“ _I’ll kill you._ ”

“Beaaau,” said Jester, elbowing her softly. “Stop antagonizing Nott.”

 “She just threatened to murder me, though?”

“How about you both apologize and play nice,” Caduceus suggested.

“Ugh.” Beau made a face. “Sorry for calling you a ‘half-pint.’ Even though you _are_ short, like, that’s just fact, isn’t it?”

“Apology not accepted,” Nott said immediately.

“The fuck?” Beau straightened, mildly offended. “That’s not how it works. Also where’s my apology?”

“Nott,” Caleb said softly.

Nott narrowed her eyes at Beau. They were super intense. Kinda creepy.

“Sorry for saying I’d kill you.”

Molly raised his hand. “I would also like to request an apology from Beauregard.”

“What?? Why me?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, grinning. “I’m sure you did _something,_ though _._ ”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Right back at you, dear.”

Caduceus scratched his chin. “I guess... that warrants another mutual apology? Probably.”

“If we have to stop for apologies each time those two snipe at each other,” Fjord said flatly, “we’ll never even get through check-in, doc.”

“Not a doctor. But... huh. You may be right.” He turned expectantly to Beau. “Back to you then.”

She sighed. “I’m here ’cause my caseworker made me.”

“We’re _all_ here because someone made us,” Yasha said bluntly.

“Point,” Beau conceded. She squinted, trying to remember what Dairon and her social worker said. “Then, I’m putting in another vote for violence. And anger issues. And getting suspended a bunch, and not really talking to anybody.”

“Absolutely none of that surprises me,” Molly said, cheerful.

She flipped him off, while Caduceus gave him another mild-mannered admonishment.

“Well, this group thing is already working for you then,” Jester piped up, grinning. “’Cause you’ve talked plenty to me and Fjord, and you didn’t punch us or, like, lose your shit at all, sooo...”

“Guess I’m cured,” Beau deadpanned. “Can I leave now?”

Caduceus smiled. “Afraid not.”

“Figured.”

“What about your illegal use of cannabis, Miss Beauregard?” said Mollymauk, oh so earnestly. “Do you think that might need to be addressed as well?”

“Wha—? How did you—”

“Can always detect a stoner when I see one.” Molly winked.

“Also,” Jester whispered to her, “you forgot your hoodie here last week and we found it after you left and it totally smelled like pot.”

“It didn’t occur to you to mention that?”

“It’s in the laundry! I’ll give it back to you, I promise!”

“It’s alright,” Caduceus finally cut in. “This is a judgment-free zone. We’re here to talk about everything. Also legally I can’t get you in trouble for any disclosure of drug use, so...”

“Stop making it sound like I’m doing meth.” She slumped down in her chair, aggravated. “Anyway, my last shrink was way more concerned about my drinking than any of that other shit.”

Nott nodded vehemently. “Amen.”

“Don’t get me wrong, kid,” Beau said quickly. “You’re still the only alcoholic here. I haven’t even touched a drink in months.”

Mostly because she had no access since she was completely uprooted from her old house, old school, old contacts... But still.

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” snapped Nott. “Besides, Jester and Fjord might still be alcoholics!” She turned to them rather hopefully.

“Nope! Sorry, Nott.” Jester sounded genuinely apologetic that she wasn’t an addict in solidarity or something.

“Yeah, that’s one problem I don’t have,” said Fjord.

“Dammit.”

“We’re still not finished, Miss Beau,” said Caduceus gently. “What do you hope to accomplish by being here?”

“Uh...” She tried to bullshit something, but her mind was coming up blank. Just like it always did whenever someone asked her about the future, or what she wanted, or her goals or whatever. She wasn’t even sure she’d still _be_ in the system in three months.

“Take your time,” said Caduceus, which in Beau’s mind kinda always translated to, _Hey, we’re waiting. Hurry up._

She began to parrot something her caseworker told her: “I want to smooth my transition into my new foster home by, uhh... learning about the experiences and perspectives of kids who have been in care for varying lengths of time.”

“Great. That’s a great response. Thank you for that.”

Beau had no idea how Caduceus used the word ‘great’ so much without coming off as completely sarcastic, insincere dickwad.

“Well, hey,” Fjord said gamely. “If you just entered the system, there’s hope for you yet, right?”

“What he means is,” drawled Molly, “your permanency plan’s not dead in the water like the rest of us.”

“Yippee,” Beau intoned. “Can’t wait to live with my old man again.”

Yasha’s gaze flicked towards her, an inscrutable expression on her face. Caleb coughed into his fist.

“Hm.” Caduceus poured more tea. “Let’s move on, then, shall we? Jester?”

“Sooo...” Jester hummed and tapped her chin. “I guess I am here because I got in a lot of trouble a few months ago. I mean, I get in trouble a _lot_ , but this was like really big trouble, and this shrink tried to diagnose me with all sorts of stuff till my mom called horse-shit.” She beamed. “I do have ADHD, though, and. Stuff. So, like I said, I have court-ordered therapy now and my mom thought this would be a good place to get some more of it done!”

“Doing time.” Beau nodded. “I can respect that.”

Molly snorted.

“As for what I want to accomplish...” Jester’s eyes brightened. “I want to be able to call all of us friends by the end of the summer! Wouldn’t that be super great, you guys?”

Nott scoffed. “I thought we were doing realistic goals.”

Jester’s face fell into a pout.

“I’m fine with _you,_ ” Nott assured her. “And Caleb, obviously. As for the rest of these miscreants...”

“Did you seriously just call us ‘miscreants’?” Mollymauk was torn between bemusement and delight.

“You _are_ a miscreant,” Yasha said fondly.

Molly flashed his toothy grin, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Gross,” said Nott.

“That’s so _cute_ ,” said Jester at the same time.

Fjord cleared his throat. “Uh. Anyway. Guess I’m up last.”

“ _Yes_.” Beau groaned in relief. “Finally. Can we leave after this??”

“The session’s just beginning, Beauregard. It’s, ah, literally only been twelve minutes.”

Beau groaned again, in dismay this time.

Fjord was frowning, mulling his words. Somehow, when he frowned, the jagged white scar carved diagonally across his left eye seemed to grow more pronounced, more conspicuous. She realized with a start that this chill, friendly dude could probably actually look real threatening if he wanted to.

“Guess the main thing with me right now is night terrors,” Fjord said finally. “My caseworker offered me this group as an option, but to be honest I’m not real sure how it’s s’posed to help anything.”

“That’s absolutely fair,” Caduceus said, kind. “As long as you’re open to giving us an honest try.”

“I can do that,” he said. “I mean, ideally what I’d like to accomplish is to make them go away, or at least happen less often, but…” Fjord trailed off with a shrug.

“It might be difficult to confront your sleep issues directly,” said Caduceus, “but, well, night terrors in an older teen like yourself typically have underlying psychological factors, rather than just physiological or genetic ones.” He tilted his head. “You all might think I’m biased, but honestly talking it out can take everyone a long way.”

Everyone responded to _that_ with a whole range of facial expressions, mostly in the realm of disgust. Except for Jester, who was nodding wisely, and Yasha, who just always looked kind of pissed off (but maybe looked slightly more pissed off in this moment).

Caduceus chuckled at their reactions.

“I’m not gonna make you all sit in a circle and spill your guts just yet,” he assured them. “In fact, respecting boundaries is one of the most important ground rules here.”

“You mean we’re not just going to hold hands and swap tragic backstories back and forth?” snarked Molly. “Wow, I’m almost disappointed.”

“Nah, no one is going to be forced to share their histories,” Caduceus emphasized. “You can still participate actively, focus on overcoming current problems, and be present and receptive to change without getting into all that.” He looked around the room. “Of course, especially later on some of you might feel that talking about your past experiences is relevant to the conversation or necessary to improving your present circumstances. I want us all to make sure that this is a safe space for anyone to share anything and... feel anything, okay?”

Most of the group seemed to relax a little after Clay’s slow, calm speech. Beau had the weird feeling that he held eye contact with her slightly longer than necessary. Then again, maybe he made everyone feel like that as part of his weird connect-y counsellor thing.

“But we’ll worry about all that later,” Caduceus said cheerfully, all his previous gravity leaving his tone and expression. “Today we’re just going to start with some nice breathing exercises.”

Beau face-planted into the table, already bored out of her skull. Maybe holding hands and swapping tragic backstories wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

 “Kumba-fuckin’-ya,” said Fjord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kumba-fuckin'-ya, my dudes


	4. Networking 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter than planned today bc irl stuff has been hectic but i didn't want to leave this alone too long. hope y'all are doing well & everyone's ending 2018 on a decent note!

At the end of the meeting, Caduceus made each of them summarize their current emotional state in one word, which only resulted in him repeating that “‘tired’ and ‘hungry’ aren’t... really quite _emotions_ , you guys.” This was not a statement received warmly by seven teenagers.

Beau supposed the whole thing could have been worse. Despite his reassurances, she was still holding her breath throughout the session, half-expecting the moment Caduceus would start doing the _shrink_ thing and start poking into everyone’s heads, asking about their childhoods and crap. But mostly they just went through breathing exercises and talked about grounding techniques.

It was both an immense relief and... sorta anticlimactic? The movies always made group therapy and support groups look so dramatic.

He did assign them _homework_ , though, in the form of some of those cheesy CBT worksheets. So that was a negative.

Molly held the worksheets between his thumb and index finger, arm outstretched like the paper was contaminated. “Ugh. We’re not getting _graded_ on this, are we, Deuces?”

“Ha. No. I... don’t even know how that would work, actually.” Caduceus scratched his cheek. “This is just a little something to help you all examine the way you think and act. We can discuss what you put down when we all meet up next week.”

_Gross_. Beau had encountered enough of those CBT exercises to last a lifetime, thanks. (Granted, she’d never earnestly tried to actually _do_ them. But still.)

Just like last week, Caleb, Nott, and Yasha seemed to book it as soon as Caduceus dismissed everyone. It was like one moment they were there, and then Beau blinked and they’d all vanished.

She dashed for the front door, bursting out of the house just in time to see Caleb and Nott power walking together by the curb.

“Yo!” she called, jogging toward them. “Hey, wait up.”

They slowed their pace just marginally, casting her a wary glance as she caught up. She noticed the way both their shoulders tensed, and almost rolled her eyes. Did _she_ look that wound-up and prickly to everybody else?

_Probably_ , she thought. No wonder the majority of kids at her new school gave her a wide berth.

“Beauregard,” Caleb said stiffly. “If you are looking for a ride, I’m afraid we can’t help you there.”

“What? No.” She shook her head rapidly, trying to sweep away the bangs that had fallen into her eyes when she was running. Long hair was dumb. “Nah, I’m covered on that front.” She glanced to Nott. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“ _Fuck.”_ Nott darted behind Caleb, tugging his sleeve and hissing, “She wants to fight me, Caleb! ’Cause of all the shit I said to her in group! _Run!_ ”

“The fuck? I’m not gonna fight you,” cried Beau at the same time as Caleb said, “I do not think she is here to fight you. Probably. They are usually more sneaky about it.”

Nott nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

“ _They?_ ” said Beau indignantly. “Who’s _they?_ I’m not _they._ If I was gonna hit you, I’d do it to your face.”

“Please don’t hit me in the face,” said Nott.

“No, ugh—” She sighed. “Alright, kid—I mean, uh, Nott—I’m gonna cut to the chase. You’re still drinking, right? Unless you were bluffing this whole time about being a total booze-hound.”

The smaller girl narrowed her eyes. “Who’s askin’? Are you a cop? Legally you have to tell me if you’re a cop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ cop?”

“It’s hard to say in these troubled times.”

Caleb sighed. “She is probably not a cop. Just another teenaged alcoholic.”

“I told you, I’m not an alcoholic!” She pinched the bridge of her nose. _Breathe._ “But, uh, yeah. I am kinda fishing for—y’know, I kinda lost access to _anything_ fun when they yanked me from home and dumped me with Dairon. So I was hoping you could—I dunno, help a girl out. Group solidarity, right?”

“Oh.” Nott didn’t relax. “I’m not givin’ you my booze.”

“I don’t want your booze,” she said impatiently. “Just wanna know who you get it from. I mean, you’re like, twelve, so don’t fucking tell me you buy it yourself.”

“I’m almost _fourteen,_ so shut the fuck up.”

Beau crossed her arms.

“Gah.” Nott yelped and grabbed at Caleb’s sleeve again. “Please don’t kill me!”

“...Do I just look like a thug to you? That’s racial profiling.”

“Don’t tell _me_ ’bout racial profiling.” Nott scowled.

“Okay, settle down,” said Caleb, the white boy. “It is me. I buy Nott her alcohol.”

She gaped. “What? No fucking way. _You_ have a fake?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “It is not so difficult to obtain, _ja?_ Seventy dollars downtown.”

“No, _I_ know that.” She rolled her eyes. Who did he think she was? “But, like. You’re a nerd. You just don’t seem...”

“Actually, I am very cool,” he said very seriously. “I do the clubbing every day, all night.”

She stared. Caleb still didn’t make eye contact, but his mouth twitched, just a little.

So he _did_ have a sense of humor. Beau had to admit she was shocked.

Still, it was hard to see Caleb Widogast getting away with buying whiskey. After all, the reason fakes didn’t really work out for Beau was because she unfortunately, definitely looked her age. Caleb might have been older than her, but he was so nervous all the time and not exactly tall. But there had to be some way Nott the Alleged Alcoholic was getting hammered, so...

“Fine, Mr. Cool Guy.” She smirked. “How about it? You wanna help out a new friend, then?”

“I did not think we are friends,” said Caleb.

“Ouch.” Beau winced. “Harsh, dude.”

“I was only stating a fact.”

“Yeah! _I’m_ Caleb’s only friend,” Nott said proudly.

“Wow. You said this very sad thing in a way too happy way.” Beau considered them, then shrugged. “But I guess I’m not in any position to judge. Will you pick up for me or not, man? I’ll pay you up front.”

“He’ll need a service charge, too,” Nott piped up, suddenly very amenable.

“Do not agree to things for me,” said Caleb. But he did not look too aggrieved.

Before Beau could seal the deal, her phone started buzzing loudly in her pocket. She glanced behind her. She could still see Jester’s house in the distance, with what looked like Dairon’s car parked by the curb. _Crap_.

“Okay, I gotta go but—uh, I’ll give you my number or something?” She pointed at Caleb. “C’mon, dude, we’ll discuss this and shit. I’ll owe you a favor.”

Caleb hesitated. “...Okay. No need for your number, though. I will add you on Facebook.”

“But Jester said—never mind.” Beau shook her head. “Okay, whatever, I’ll hold you to that. See ya!”

She shot them both significant _looks_ —feeling vaguely like a schoolyard bully in a PSA—and then made her way back to Jester’s, letting Dairon go to voicemail. She could probably already see her coming, anyway.

When she reached the car, she spotted Jester and Fjord sitting by the front doorsteps to the house again. No Mollymauk this time. They waved to her cheerfully.

“Makin’ new friends?” Fjord called out.

“I can’t believe you’re replacing me with Caleb,” yelled Jester, although Beau was pretty sure she was smiling. “Are you gonna join their clique now?”

“Screw you guys,” called Beau, but she tossed them a wave as she ducked into the car. As they drove off, she felt a small sense of FOMO thinking of Fjord and Jester just chilling on the steps. Maybe she _should_ tell Dairon to pick her up later than noon. That was dumb, though, right? Who even said they’d want her hanging around?

“So,” said Dairon as she drove, “new friends?” She sounded disturbingly similar to Fjord in that moment.

“Not really,” said Beau, rolling her shoulders. She hid a smirk. “Let’s call it networking.”

“Hm.” She side-eyed her. “I trust you’re not getting yourself into trouble.”

Beau scoffed. “C’mon. Did ya see the guy I was talking with? He’s a scrawny nerd dude. Not exactly joining gangs, here.”

“I did say I trust you.” Dairon’s mouth quirked.

“Sure, whatever.” She rolled her eyes, averted her gaze. She figured Dairon probably trusted her as far as she could throw her. Then again, Beau had the vague sense that this middle-aged lady might be able to throw her pretty dang far.

***

She was making herself a turkey sandwich when her cell phone buzzed. The only person who ever called her anymore was Dairon, and she was somewhere in the house, so...

Beauregard put down the avocado she was slicing (ugh, how has her life _come_ to this) and fished her phone from her pocket. The contact ID read, ‘STALE LOAF.’ Oh. Her _caseworker_.

She made a face and tapped ACCEPT.

“Zeenoth,” she drawled. “Ya never call, ya never write. What’s the occasion, man?”

Beau could practically feel the man bristling with indignation on the other end. She grinned, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder so her hands would be free to focus on her delicate sandwich-making process.

“Beauregard,” he said drily. “Pleasure as always. How are things going?”

“C’mon, man, don’t pretend you really wanna know. Cut to the chase. What d’you want?”

“Of course I want to—” A frustrated sigh. “Very well.”

It was way too easy to antagonize the guy—Beau would almost feel bad if he weren’t so annoying. The truth was, a part of her recognized that Zeenoth was maybe an okay dude at his core and really did mean well, in his own way. Too bad he had to be such a dreary, ineffectual bureaucrat, was all.

“Beauregard, when was the last time you had visitation with your father?”

Ah. _Fuck_.

She glared at the slice of deli turkey like _it_ was ruining her day. “Sounds like you already know the answer to that, dude, if you’re calling to yell about it.”

“Well, according to him, he hasn’t even seen you since March.”

Beau nearly dropped her knife. “My dad? He actually called you?”

“Of course. Or—his lawyer did.” Zeenoth sighed again. “Beauregard, what’s going on? Your case plan outlines the visitation schedule very clearly—an hour every week—”

“Well, he’s clearly not following _that_ , is he?” she drawled. “That’s not my problem.”

“According to your father, you told him to ‘fuck off’ in the first unsupervised visit you two shared, refused to schedule a follow-up, and he was only trying to respect your wishes.”

“Yeah, well.” Beau slapped her sandwich together with unique viciousness. “I was pissed.”

“Clearly,” said Zeenoth. “Nevertheless, he’s still legally your parent and has the right to see you, and—believe it or not—we actually do have your best interests in mind—”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“—and given your _difficulties_ adjusting over the past several months, you cutting off all contact with your father is clearly not the way to go here. Frankly, it gives me concerns about how your current foster parent may be influencing you—”

“Hold up,” she cut him off. “ _Dairon_ has nothing to do with this shit, all right? She’s got zero impact on how I wanna deal with my dad, and neither do you, unless you’re gonna force me into meeting him—”

“Of course we don’t want to force you into anything, Beauregard,” he said, exasperated. “But we did all agree in your case plan—and ideally I’d like to include _you_ in the ‘we agree’ part here—”

“So I don’t have to,” she said drily, “but I kinda do have to? Sounds about right for you guys.”

“Your father wants to see you, Beauregard.”

That shut her up. She stared down at her lopsided sandwich, suddenly not very hungry. Her neck felt hot, uncomfortable, like her shirt was itchy or too tight.

“Beauregard? Are you still there?”

One long breath. Another. _Okay._

“Let’s do it,” she said. “I’ll follow the fuckin’ plan or whatever if he does. Okay?”

“Oh.” Zeenoth sounded surprised. “I mean, good. That’s great. Let’s see—” There was a pause, the sound of typing. “Are you available Monday evening?”

“Uh.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “That’s kind of short fucking notice, don’t you think?”

“Well, the two of you have missed a lot of visits.”

Beau exhaled. “Whatever. Monday’s fine. Can he—can he come over here, though? To Dairon’s?”

“I—” Zeenoth gave a final sigh. “Very well. That should be alright. I’ll confirm the details with you tomorrow, before the weekend.”

When Dairon came into the kitchen a few minutes later, Beau was leaning with her elbows on the counter, her sandwich still untouched in front of her. She scooted out of the way to give Dairon room to make a new pot of tea, like she always did at this time of day.

She perked a brow. “Something wrong?”

“Just not hungry. I mean, I barely get to fuckin’ work out now,” Beau groused. She shoved her sandwich into the fridge. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

Beau paused on her way out of the kitchen. “Zeenoth called. I’m gonna start up visitation with my dad again.” She shrugged. “He’s coming over here Monday after work. That okay?”

She examined Dairon’s face for a response, not sure what to expect. Not sure what she even _wanted_ to see. Did Beau want her to get angry, object? Say she was going to call Zeenoth, argue to change her case plan for her?

In the end, Dairon remained as stoic and unreadable as ever. “Of course that’s all right,” she said. That was all.

Beau turned around and left.

***

_Caleb Widogast wants to be friends with you._

_You accepted Caleb’s friend request._

**BEAUREGARD:** _yo_

**BEAUREGARD:** _jester said u didn’t have Facebook_

**CALEB:** _I made my privacy settings so that my profile is not searchable. She wouldn’t be able to have found me._

**BEAUREGARD:** _wow. running from the NSA much?_

**CALEB:** _Oh, I am sure they are able to find me just fine_

Beau snorted despite herself.

**BEAUREGARD:** _so can u pick up for me or what_

**BEAUREGARD:** _kinda really need it this week._

**BEAUREGARD:** _That nott kid is on to something. sobriety sucks ass_

**CALEB:** _O_ _k. Send me what you want. And I charge 10% commission._

**BEAUREGARD:** _wtf man i bet you don’t scam nott like that_

**CALEB:** _I don’t make a habit of buying alcohol for random teenagers. Nott is my friend._

**BEAUREGARD:** _yea whatever. Fine_

**BEAUREGARD:** _thanks_

No reply came for several minutes. But then—

**CALEB:** _:)_

**BEAUREGARD:** _w t F_

***

She woke up in a cold sweat way too early for a Friday morning in June. Her head pounded, as if she’d barely gotten any sleep at all, even though she’d actually passed out in bed pretty early the night prior. The sticky, unpleasant afterimage of a nightmare clung to her skin like a thin coat of sweat.

Beau flipped over, turned on her phone. _6:41 AM._ Fuck. This was ungodly. She blamed Dairon—working on the backyard with her for the past week had fucked up Beau’s sleep cycle, so she was waking up earlier and earlier each day.

Not expecting much—more of a reflex than anything—she swiped into her Messenger app. Predictably no one she knew was awake or online at this hour, except—

There it was again. A little green circle next to Fjord’s name. _Active now._

She tapped.

**BEAUREGARD:** _jeez do you ever sleep_

She yawned and pillowed an arm behind her head, glaring blearily at the phone screen like doing so would psychically force Fjord to respond something, to distract her from that shitty early-morning can’t-fall-back-asleep feel that clouded her mind.

Three hovering dots appeared. _Fjord is typing..._

**FJORD:** _I probably will, soon enough. just got off work actually_

**BEAUREGARD:** _jeez wtf. Where the hell do you work?_

**FJORD:** _nothing fancy. A convenience store nearish to my place_

**BEAUREGARD:** _man u always do the graveyard shift ??_

**FJORD:** _i’m a creature of the night ;)_

**FJORD:** _Okay that looked weird. Sorry._

**FJORD:** _but yeah, a few nights a week. Makes it so i can get more hours during the school year, and i’m already used to it so why change it up during summer right_

**BEAUREGARD:** _um i dunno? How about S L E E P_

**FJORD:** _Hah. I do during the day, if I can._

**BEAUREGARD:** _is it because of ur night terrors shit_

**FJORD:** _wow, beau. tactful_

**BEAUREGARD:** _yep. That’s my middle name_

**BEAUREGARD:** _..sorry, i’m just always a dick. You can just tell me to fuck off whenever_

**FJORD:** _you’re fine. We’ll work on it._

Beau rolled over in bed, so she was lying flat on her stomach, staring at her phone screen in front of her like she was a schoolgirl texting her crush. She blinked at Fjord’s text. She liked the “We” in it more than she wanted to admit. It was kind of pathetic, really, how warm she felt. Huh.

**BEAUREGARD:** _are you gonna sleep soon?_

**FJORD:** _probably not yet. Not tired at the moment. Why the hell are you up anyway_

**BEAUREGARD:** _woke up, couldn’t fell back asleep_

**BEAUREGARD:** _you wanna hang out?_

**FJORD:** _......right now?_

**BEAUREGARD:** _ya, why not_

She could think of a dozen reasons “why not,” actually. Maybe she was just sleep-deprived, but she didn’t much care about any of them at the moment. She felt more relaxed and at home than she had in months, lounging under her blankets and lazily watching the hovering three dots blinking at her from her phone screen.

**FJORD:** _you got a solid point_

**FJORD:** _what d’you have in mind_

**BEAUREGARD:** _..._

**FJORD:** _..._

**BEAUREGARD:** _so where do u live_


	5. Mind over Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm exhausted
> 
> thank you guys for continuing to be so kind and supportive even when i go MIA. i love u all

Fjord’s foster home wasn’t too far from the river. She was planning to brave the atrocious public transit system but when Dairon saw her skidding into the kitchen to grab an apple on her way out, she made Beau sit down to eat a bowl of cereal and insisted on giving her a ride. And, well, Beau wasn’t gonna say no to a free chauffeur, okay?

When they arrived, Fjord was already in his front yard, looking infuriatingly put-together and not nearly as sleepy as she felt, even though he presumably was working all damn night. He greeted them with a friendly smile, shiny black hair appearing lighter, almost brown in the early morning sun, and gave Dairon a firm handshake and too-formal introduction.

“You’re such a boy scout,” Beau groaned once they were alone.

Fjord laughed. “What’re you talking about?”

“I mean, aren’t you supposed to be a fuck-up like the rest of us or something? You’re makin’ me look bad.”

He shrugged, waving her into the garage. “In my experience,” he said carefully, “it never hurts to be polite. The right words can get you almost anywhere. That, and keepin’ a low profile.”

“Right.” She grimaced. “I’m sorta shit at both of those things.”

He shot her a rueful smile. “It takes a lot of practise, that’s all.”

They extricated a couple of bikes from the mess of the garage, Beau borrowing Fjord’s foster brother’s or something. It was a little big for her—she had to get nearly a running start just to swing herself onto it—but it was a functional ride, and that was all that mattered.

They biked to the riverside, and then along the path by the water. It was barely 8 a.m. and the sun was already pretty hot, but not nearly as unbearable as it would be later in the day, so they enjoyed the relatively comfortable morning air rushing through their hair, their T-shirts and shorts, for as long as they could. They cycled without stopping or much talking for over an hour before they finally took a break to sit by the river bank, bikes abandoned nearby. Their shoulders didn’t quite touch but the—the casual closeness was still a new thing for Beau, this sense of easy camaraderie as they just existed beside each other.

Fjord passed her a large, lukewarm water bottle, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“Thanks, man,” she rasped, after draining almost half of the water in one go.

He grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re winded already,” he teased her.

“Shut up.” She tossed the bottle back at him, and Fjord winced exaggeratedly when it thumped his chest before he caught it and took another gulp. “Summer’s too fucking hot, is all. And I’m super out of shape right now, thanks to Dairon.”

His brow furrowed. “What do ya mean? She won’t let you go to the gym or something? From the look of her I assumed she’d be super into fitness, you know?”

“Nah. Well, sort of.” She fiddled with one of her shoelaces and then sighed, stretching her legs vertically out in front of her. “I broke my arm back in February. Had to get surgery to fix it and everything. I did all my rehab sessions and stuff now but she’s still paranoid about me doing anything too intense for a while, lest I do ‘permanent damage’ or some shit.”

Which meant she couldn’t even get back into Muay Thai until Dairon gave her the okay. Not that Beau wasn’t used to sneaking to kickboxing sessions anyway—her dad had _never_ given her the okay on that, after all—but a part of Beau _was_ maybe a little spooked by the idea of fucking something up irreversibly. She was even still doing her boring physical therapy exercises every day in her own room.

“That’s rough,” Fjord said in sympathy. “Still, man, seems kinda reasonable. Permanent damage doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah, guess not.”

“How’d you break it?” He elbowed her very gently, playful. “Tumble off a bike?”

“Ah, fuck you.” She smirked, but there was a sudden big lump in her throat she had to force herself to swallow past. “It was just—you know. An accident, I guess.”

“Pretty bad accident, if you needed surgery.”

She shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.

Fjord drained the rest of the water bottle, then hopped to his feet. “C’mon.” He offered her a hand. “Let’s ride to a 7-Eleven or something. I need another drink.”

Beau stood, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. He just shrugged and shot her a sideways smile, not looking bothered by her rudeness at all.

They ended up biking to a McDonald’s—all roads led to the golden arches, in her life—and she devoured an entire breakfast combo while Fjord just got himself a juice.

Near the end of their meal, Fjord glanced at his phone and then turned to her with his brows raised.

“Hey,” he drawled. “You think you can stand some more socialization today?”

“Well...” Beau sighed and pretended to consider. “Usually I’d say I’m near my quota, y’know, and I’d need to be paid in booze if you wanted me to go past it. But I guess I’ll, like, make an exception this time.”

Fjord grinned. “Aw, you like us after all. Jester was right.”

“Shut up. I plead the fifth.”

“Well, it’s Jester Lavorre herself texting me right now. Up to telling her you hate us all in person?” As Fjord said this, he tossed his cup at the garbage can behind Beau—and made the shot perfectly, the dick. “Her place is like maybe an hour’s ride from here, though. Less if we move fast. Think your arm can handle that?”

“Fuck off,” she said, wishing she had some more eloquent comebacks in her arsenal. “I could kick your ass even if my arm was actually still broken. Especially since as far as I can tell you’ve had no sleep _or_ food.”

“Mind over matter.” He winked.

They did end up biking to Jester’s place. By the time they arrived it was early afternoon and both of them were drenched in sweat. Jester did not let this fact go unnoticed, scrunching up her nose when she opened the door for them before loudly announcing, “Gross. Do you guys know you really fucking stink?”

“Yeah,” Beau grumbled, still a bit short of breath. Man, she really was out of shape. She should at least go running more often. “We know. Can we get some water? Or even better, a cold beer?”

“She’s kidding,” said Fjord, to which Beau insisted, “Uh, no I’m not.”

Jester smirked. “I’ve got chocolate milk. That’s top tier refreshment.”

They headed into the sweet, air-conditioned refuge of Jester’s house, even as Jester kept loudly, cheerfully complaining about their stench. She also very seriously said that they weren’t allowed up in her room unless they took a shower and changed out of their stinky clothes, but Beau and Fjord both kinda thought it’d be fucking weird to shower at Jester’s place so they all just hung out in the living room area, accompanied by three tall glasses of chocolate milk.

“Oh, by the way,” Jester remembered. She tossed a bundle of blue cotton at Beau. “Here’s your hoodie back, good as new. I washed the gross pot smell out and everything.”

“Maybe I liked the pot smell.”

“Molly was right,” said Fjord. “You’re such a stoner.”

“Uh, excuse me? Molly is never right.” Beau made a face at the very idea. “Everyone’s gotta have their vices to stay fucking sane around here, though.”

“Sanity’s super overrated,” lilted Jester. She grinned a dangerous grin. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, sure, Luna Lovegood. Just keep marching to that beat.”

“Oh my gosh.” Jester clapped her hands together. “That was a _Harry Potter_ reference! Molly was right again—you’re secretly a huge nerd, Beau!”

“What the fuck? How much have you and Molly been talking about me behind my back?” She crossed her arms, self-conscious. “And I’m not a fucking _nerd._ Everyone’s read _Harry Potter._ ”

“Sure, I’ve read _Harry Potter,_ ” Fjord agreed. There was a spark of amusement in his eye. “But I don’t pepper everyday conversation with references to it. That’s a nerd thing.”

She flung a couch cushion at him. He caught it, laughing.

“I told you!” Jester was triumphant. “It’s okay, Beau. There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd. I mean, now you can be best friends with Caleb.”

“Lucky me.”

“And Fjord is, like, definitely a nerd too.”

“Hm.” Fjord neither denied nor confirmed this. “What about you, then, Jes?”

“Me??” Jester scoffed. “No way. I’m not a nerd. It’s enough that my two best friends in the whole world are giant nerds.”

Beau grunted, still a bit genuinely offended, while Fjord just drawled, “For the record, I haven’t actually seen the _Harry Potter_ movies. So I can’t be that nerdy, can I?”

“What the fuck, Fjord??” Jester was scandalized.

“Don’t bother,” Beau told him flatly. “They suck.”

“Okay, now _that,_ ” declared Jester, “is definitely a nerd opinion to have, definitely.”

 _Shit._ She found it hard to argue with that.

***

They spent the rest of the afternoon watching the first _Harry Potter_ movie on Jester’s insistence. Beau was resolute in her desire to hate the films on principle but even she had to admit the first movie, at least, stirred a funny, aching nostalgia somewhere in her ribs. She dimly remembered her dad bringing home the DVDs when she got really into the books in the second grade. She even remembered watching the first movie in the living room with both her parents, her mom laughing at Beau’s glee upon seeing Fluffy the three-headed dog...

 _Pathetic_. Why did she remember something so stupid? She shook her head and crammed more popcorn into her mouth, grabbing the bowl from Jester’s lap. This led to Jester protesting and wrestling her for it, and Fjord shushing them both because he’d gotten weirdly immersed in the Christmas scenes.

Afterwards, Dairon offered to pick Beau and Fjord up so they wouldn’t have to bike all the way back to Fjord’s place with the sun high in the sky in all its blistering, unbearable glory. When they got to Fjord’s house, the two of them unloaded the bikes from the back of the car and took them back into his garage while Dairon stayed in the car, giving them some privacy.

The garage door fell shut, the bikes stowed safely inside. Beau hovered awkwardly, not sure what to do with her hands, how to say bye and take her leave like a normal goddamn person.

Fjord just smiled at her, easy as anything. “Today was a good time,” he said. “I’m glad ya texted me.”

“Yeah.” She nodded, almost reached out to clasp his shoulder but realized that’d be weird, and so shot a half-hearted finger gun instead. “Anyway, get some fucking sleep, man. I don’t know how you’re even still standing.”

“Mind over matter,” he repeated.

She snorted. “Sure.”

As she turned to leave, though, tossing a final wave over her shoulder, Fjord stopped her: “Hey. Beau.”

She turned back to him. “What?”

His eyes flicked to her arm, and then back to her face. A faint smile played on his lips, and even though it was barely there, she got the weird sense it was the most genuine one she’d spotted him wearing all day. There was something sad and tired about it.

“Just wanted to say,” he said, shrugging, “I’ve gone through a fair few accidents myself. That’s all.”

Her brow furrowed. For a moment they just looked at each other, not saying anything, and then finally she nodded. He nodded back. They both went home.

***

The weekend blinked by, and then Beau was waking up Monday morning feeling like there were cockroaches crawling under her skin, everywhere, all over. It was exactly as gross as it sounded.

She glanced at her phone. She wouldn’t be meeting Caleb until the next day—something she was sorely regretting. She should have pushed to make him meet up over the weekend or something. She needed to get out of her head, her body—for just a little while. _Fuck._ She yanked a hand through her hair, restless energy vibrating from her bones.

It was 1:30 pm. Dairon would be disappointed she’d slipped back to sleeping into the afternoon. They’d taken a break from the garden the past couple days, but Dairon still usually woke her up earlier than this. Beau didn’t know why she’d let her sleep in for once today. Whatever, she deserved it.

A wild idea struck her. She grabbed her phone.

Twenty minutes later, she was dashing to the kitchen, grabbing some food and—the noise drew Dairon out of her home office. “You’re up,” she said.

“I’m goin’ out,” Beau replied.

“Out? Where?”

“To chill with Fjord. We’re just gonna play some basketball or something at the middle school.” She rolled her eyes, making a point of sighing heavily before drawling, “Is that _okay?_ ”

“That’s fine, but I think we would both benefit if you dialed down the attitude.”

“Whatever.”

“And don’t forget—” Dairon’s voice was steady. “Your father’s coming at six.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beau waved her off. She hadn’t forgotten. “I’ll be back by then, I’m not skipping out, et cetera, okay?”

“Of course. I have utter faith in you.”

“Sure.”

For a moment, Dairon watched her, looking as if she might add something more. But finally all she did was hold out a granola bar and say, “Call me if you need anything. And watch your arm.”

Another flippant _Whatever_ got stuck somewhere in Beauregard’s throat. She grabbed the granola bar and fled.

She took the bus to a middle school about halfway between Dairon’s house and Fjord’s. He was already hanging out on the pavement when she arrived, shooting some baskets by himself. There were two hoops set up on the wall on either side of one of the school’s side entrances. Beau hadn’t gone to middle school here, but the whole layout looked and felt so familiar, was so similar to her own memories, that she almost felt like she had. Trippy.

“Hey,” she called.

He startled, his next shot bouncing off the backboard and teetering on the edge of the hoop before thudding to the ground.

“You missed,” she said flatly.

“Yeah, thanks.” Fjord folded his arms. “Y’know, I’d gotten to making thirty-six free throws in a row before you showed up.”

“Bullshit.”

He fetched the basketball, tossed it to her. “Well, that’s a straight challenge if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Joke’s on you.” She bounced the ball off the pavement a couple times experimentally. “Nothing I do is ever straight.”

“That is the corniest line I ever heard,” said Fjord, but he was grinning.

They started up a simple game of Horse, since this wasn’t anything close to an actual court. Fjord had been the one to suggest the location, and well, it was cheaper than keeping a membership at the Y.

“So did you go to school here?” she said, lining up her next shot. _Swish._

“Nah.” Fjord retrieved the ball, mirrored her position. “I didn’t even move to the city till a couple years ago, actually.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I grew up closer to the coast.” He smiled ruefully. “But I’ve been in the system a long time and, uh, it gets real hard to find placements for us older kids.”

“Sounds shitty,” she said conversationally. “You miss home?”

“I mean—this is home, right now.” He sounded both infuriatingly earnest and depressingly resigned, all at once. “And I’ve been in worse places. But I do miss the ocean, the beach, yeah.”

“Yeah, uh, no beaches here. There’s the river, I guess?”

Fjord chuckled and hurled the ball at her—underhand, like he was bowling, almost. She caught it against her chest, distracted. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I’m—I’m fucking grateful for where I am right now, believe me.”

Beau hummed, rolled her shoulders. She was strangely curious about Fjord’s life. It was like—the first time she’d been in the system, she’d been younger and it’d lasted less than two months. She remembered some other kids, but she didn’t remember talking to them much. And now here she was, a proper foster kid or whatever, but for almost four months it’d just been her and Dairon. She didn’t actually really _know_ another kid in the system, especially not someone who straight-up grew up in it, and now—she was kind of caught between wanting to know more, and feeling awkward and dumb about just talking about foster care stuff with the kid she knew from the foster care fuck-up club, or whatever. It made her feel stereotypical.

“What about you?” Fjord was saying, now. “You live in this city your whole life?”

“Sadly,” muttered Beau, disappointed that he’d managed to turn the conversation back on her. She should always be the one asking the questions, thank you very much.

To his credit, Fjord just nodded knowingly at her answer, not probing further for once.

He ended up winning the shootout regardless. Like a real gentleman, he didn’t gloat. Like a real teenage boy, he turned to her silently with the biggest, smuggest grin on his lips, the very picture of smug complacency.

Beau huffed. “Yeah, well,” she drawled, “I might be a HORSE, but you’re a HOR, so.”

“Hey. At least I’m the king of whores.”

She shoved his shoulder, but had to bite back a laugh. “Fuck you, man. Rematch.”

Somewhere between their fifth and sixth game (she handily beat him on every shootout after the first), they found themselves lying on the grass of the nearby soccer field. Beau plopped her own backpack over her face to block the sun, but when she got bored and sat up to peek over at Fjord, she found him squinting up at the sky, arms at his sides. Her mouth was opening to ruin the moment, before she could stop it:

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you to never look directly at the sun?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Matter of fact,” he said, lips twitching, “they did not.”

“Well. You should never look directly at the sun.”

“Damn. Thanks for that, Beau. Looks like you’re ready to be a mom.”

“Hell, yeah,” she said, grinning like a jackass. When he didn’t have a snappy response, her smile dropped a little. She reached into her bag, her fingers finding the granola bar Dairon had given her. Nutty. Low sugar. No chocolate chips. Of course.

She placed it on Fjord’s stomach.

He blinked. “Thanks...?”

Beau shrugged and looked away. When she looked back, the granola bar was gone and Fjord had finally closed his eyes. He pillowed his arms behind his head, his long body still sprawled out across the grass. He looked very young like this, even with the yellow sun highlighting the raised white of his facial scars.

It felt more than a little creepy watching him from above, so she lay back down next to him, mirroring his posture and letting her eyes fall shut too.

“I—I don’t remember anything of my parents, you know.” Fjord’s voice was level, and very soft.

“...what happened to them?”

“I dunno.” A huff of breath, almost amused. “They’re still alive, as far as I know. Honestly... government doesn’t know shit, either.”

Beau felt the familiar incessant buzz of questions under her skin. She tried to focus on the feeling of sunlight, instead, or the grass tickling her bare arms.

But when Fjord didn’t elaborate, her curiosity won out. “So, what,” she said lightly, “you’re a foundling? Like in a sad but heartwarming Lifetime movie?”

He snorted. “You could say that.” Hesitation. “They took their sweet time deciding they didn’t want me, though. I wasn’t some baby in a basket when I was dumped with CPS. Just... young.”

 _Sorry,_ she wanted to say. _Fuck your parents,_ she almost said. Instead she stayed silent, and kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady.

Eventually Fjord nudged her shoulder and they both got up and played a couple more games. Beau let him win the final one, trying to soften him up before she found the right timing (and the nerve) to pop the question.

“So. Hey, man,” she said, trying to sound casual. “You should come over. Right now. For dinner or something. I can get Dairon to drive you home, after, so, uh...”

Fjord gave her a funny look. Great. So that sounded as supremely uncomfortable as she felt, then.

“Just...” She sighed. “Please, dude? Dairon’s worried I’m an antisocial loser and she probably thinks I spent today doing drugs and vandalizing churches or something. Come for dinner. She’ll squeal with joy. On the inside, ’cause, you know...”

“Okay,” Fjord said evenly. He shrugged, tucking the basketball under his armpit. “If you’re sure I won’t be imposing.”

“Trust me. You’d be doing me a huge favour.”

“Huh.” He smiled. “Can I hold you to that?”

She eyed him warily. He was as hard to read as ever. “We’ll see,” she said.

“That’ll do for now.” Fjord reached into his pocket, pulled out the granola bar she’d given him earlier. He dropped it into the side pocket of her backpack. “If you’re giving me dinner, I won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as explanation. “So... lead the way.”


	6. Breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bite-sized interlude of an update. have had this section plus chunks of the next chapters drafted for months but life remains hectic (in a good way!), and i figure a tiny 1.4k assurance of me Not Being Dead is better than more radio silence
> 
> updates will, as always, remain sporadic, but i'm hoping to jump back into writing soon so fingers crossed. love u all

 

 

_The shock began to wear off during the drive to the hospital._

_She was buckled into the front passenger seat, her left hand clutching tightly at her right forearm because some crazy part of her brain was scared that her arm would maybe disconnect entirely if she let go, like most of it might just fall off and she’d be left with this gross stump oozing blood all over her dad’s leather car seats._

_Up until then Beau hadn’t really felt the pain—just a numb sort of dizziness. Then her dad took a particularly sharp turn, the momentum knocking her against the car door just slightly. She looked down and it at last sunk in how completely fucking_ wrong _her arm looked, bent and twisted, swollen like a balloon, and the wall of agony hit her all at once. Her whole body lurched, she’d never felt anything like it before, it hurt so much and her vision went spotty and would she please pass out,_ just pass out _already—_

_“Oh, get a grip, Beauregard,” her father sighed from beside her. Even in this state she could still picture him rolling his eyes, vivid as ever._

_“I—I think I’m gonna throw up,” she said thickly, and_ fuck, _her voice sounded more like a sob than anything. She hadn’t even realized she’d started crying._

_“Well, you’ve managed to hold out this long,” he said evenly. “Just breathe. You’re panicking.”_

_“Well, yeah,” she gritted, trying to get across her anger but probably just sounding weak instead, like always, “yeah, maybe because you broke my fucking arm.”_

_“Get a grip,” he repeated, sharper this time. “And don’t be so dramatic. I told you to breathe.”_

_A part of Beau was furious that he could be so calm right now. But most of her was just hurt and dizzy and fucking terrified. She did as he ordered, taking deep breaths and choking back the sobs that threatened to heave through her chest and jostle her arm more, which sucked because every time she moved it felt like she was being set on fire._

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe breathe breathe._

_When they stopped at a red light, her father reached out and laid a hand on her good elbow. This startled her enough to stop her remaining tears in their tracks. She met his cool, familiar blue eyes, the ones that had never softened a bit no matter how much she cried. Right now was no exception._

_“Come on,” he said in his firm way. “I know you’re tougher than this, Beauregard. You’re a tough kid. Settle down.”_

_Then he drew back, just as the light went green. She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her wrist even tighter. Her father was right: she was tough. Not some weak little girl with tears and snot running down her face. Beauregard was tougher than this._

_She breathed. She got a grip._                                                                      

***

The faintest hint of guilt bit at her as she and Fjord sat together on the bus back to Dairon’s. The dude didn’t know what he was walking into. He deserved to know—but moreover, it’d be a lot more useful if he wasn’t completely blindsided by her plans.

She waited till they were about ten minutes from Dairon’s before spilling.

“Okay, so,” Beau said, trying to sound casual, “fair warning, man. My dad’s coming over at around 6. Y’know... visitation and shit.”

It was 5:40. Fjord gave her this long, calm, hard to read look. _Shit_.

“Right,” he drawled. “So, what, did you... forget?”

“Uh... yeah. Forgot. Till just now.”

“Right,” he repeated. Face unchanging.

“Okay, look, man,” said Beau, quickly giving up the lie. “It’s just for, like, an hour, and then we can have dinner like I said, right? It’s just—this is the first time I’m seeing him for a while and it’s gonna be so fucking awkward, so—”

“So you thought bringing a random friend along to bear witness would make it _less_ awkward?”

“Yes...? I mean, no.” She shook her leg impatiently. “Just—you’re, like, good at social shit, right? Not that I’m expecting you to, like, mediate or anything, fuck no. You could just be... like... a buffer?”

Fjord was still giving her that unreadable look. “Is that why you asked me to hang out today? All just to lead up to this?”

“I mean...”

Fjord heaved a sigh. A sound she was way too used to hearing from the people around her.

But then he smirked.

“Y’know, you could’ve just asked.” He rolled his eyes. “We’re friends, right? You don’t have to trick me into your weird schemes.”

Beau let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. _Relief._

“Okay, but,” she said, wrinkling her nose, “I’d hung out with you, like, once? And then what was I supposed to say, like, ‘Hey, my dad is coming over for visitation and could you like maybe just come too and possibly absorb the inevitable awkward?’”

“Yeah, that woulda worked.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” Fjord shrugged. “But, I get why you were sneaky about it. And I knew you were up to something anyway, when ya asked me over.”

“What?” She scoffed. “No way, man. I’m subtle as fuck.”

“Eh... you could use some work.” He smirked again. “And ’sides, I’m pretty good at telling when someone’s looking to get something out of me.”

“Okay, I get it, dude, you’re just _so_ talented.”

“Sure.” His smile flickered, but his tone stayed easygoing as ever. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah. Well.” Beau huffed, shut her eyes. Opened them again, but slid her gaze pointedly away from him. “Thanks, I guess. For—well, just thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They left it at that, and the small tight ball of anxiety in Beau’s chest loosened just a fraction.

When they got off the bus, though, and she led the way on the short walk to Dairon’s house, the ball seemed to have grown three sizes when she wasn’t looking. It coiled and rose, threatening to choke her and she couldn’t even pinpoint _why._

Fjord nudged her gently as they walked.

“So how come it’s been a while since you’re seeing your father? I wouldn’t really know, I guess, but isn’t visitation supposed to be, like, a regular thing?”

“Probably.” She grimaced. “It was. Is? I dunno, I kinda lost my shit at him the last time I visited, like months ago. Then I just blew off seeing him and he didn’t really push me on it, and I guess my dumbass caseworker didn’t even notice enough to yell at us about it til now.”

Fjord snorted in recognition. “Yeah, the system’s inconsistent as fuck about these things. Sometimes they’re nosy and controlling as all hell, then you don’t hear anything from anyone for months and it’s like they forgot about you.”

“Ah well. That’s actually not so different from a regular ol’ parent, then.” She shrugged, hopped from the sidewalk to walk on the curb instead. “I prefer the hands-off approach, myself.”

“Yeah, same here, most of the time.”

Fjord caught her eye. It was a tactic of his, Beau was starting to realize. Eye contact to make him seem all charismatic and trustworthy or something. She wondered if a shrink taught him that.

“Your dad,” he said casually, “what’s he like? Sounds like you two don’t get along.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Hey, ya never know, right?”

“Sure.” She exhaled. “I dunno, man. My dad’s a dick. Parents are all dicks. And I’m a dick, too, I guess.” Beau flashed a shark-like grin. “Adults like a lot of rules. I’m not so much a fan.”

“I can imagine,” he said wryly. “The thing with breaking rules, though, is that it works a whole lot better if ya don’t get caught.”

“Well, you should teach me about that sometime.” Beau elbowed him, but her bravado faded as they turned the corner to Dairon’s street. “My father... well, you’ll see. He’s not a terrible person, okay? Just maybe kinda shit at parenting sometimes.” She shook her head. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Anyway. Fuck. Just—be chill, alright?”

“As an ice cube,” Fjord said, raising his arms in a gesture of assurance.

He winked. She made a gagging noise at him, distracted momentarily from that ball of anxiety. Yeah, this had definitely been a good idea.

 


	7. Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> views expressed by any of the characters do not reflect the views of the author

 

Her father’s Mercedes was already parked in the driveway when they arrived.

_Shit._ Of course her father would arrive slightly early. He and Dairon had that in common—valuing punctuality above everything when it came to making it to appointments. But Beau hadn’t thought he’d considered seeing _her_ important enough to warrant that kind of attention. If she remembered correctly, most days he wouldn’t even be out of the office by this time.

She could feel Fjord’s eyes on the side of her neck. “Is that—”

“Yeah.” Her throat felt tight. “Yeah, uh, he’s already here.”

Dairon opened the door for them.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Fjord greeted her promptly, layering a soft, apologetic edge to his usual charming smile. “It’s really nice to see you again. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“I invited him over for dinner,” Beau said gruffly, shouldering past her into the entryway and not meeting her eyes. “I told him you’d be okay with it.”

Dairon greeted Fjord politely enough, but Beau could feel her stare drilling into the back of her head. She held back a wince. She could guess she’d be getting an earful later, once this was all over.

But that was a future Beau problem. As Dairon tried to explain the whole “Beau’s father is actually here right now, I’m so sorry, did you know that” while Fjord awkwardly tried to navigate _that_ conversation, Beau left the two of them to deal with it by the front door. She ventured alone deeper into the house without really thinking about it, numb and automatic as if she was in a trance.

The last time she’d seen her father had been over two and a half months ago. Now there he stood, in the entryway separating Dairon’s kitchen/dining area from the living room. He was still dressed in his work clothes, perfectly composed and coiffed and put-together. Meanwhile she was sweaty from basketball and there were grass stains on her shorts. She half expected him to chew her out for her appearance right there.

He met her gaze steadily.

“Hello, Beauregard,” he said, as if he’d seen her just a few hours ago, “I brought dinner.”

He jabbed his thumb at a white plastic bag on Dairon’s kitchen counter. Beau recognized it instantly—takeout from the one decent kebab place in the city. One of the only places both she and her dad liked, and their favorite.

To her horror, her throat closed up around a hot lump. _Don’t_ cry, _you useless fucking—_

When was the last time they’d ordered from there? Over a year ago? Beau had been so fucking _shitty_ the past year, even more than usual, and her relationship with her father had just gotten worse and worse. It was like watching a train-wreck in slow motion, one she was causing with her own two hands but couldn’t stop. For a while it seemed like the only time they occupied the same room anymore was when he was pissed at her or yelling at her or punishing her or something. Or maybe it was like—whenever they were in the same room, her dad would inevitably end up pissed at her or yelling at her or punishing her?

That didn’t leave a ton of time for shared takeout dinners.

Beau was still staring at the bag, stricken and choked up like a dumbass ten-year-old.

She tried to snap out of it, her gaze flitting back to her father, but that just made it worse.

“I—” She winced, hearing how low and rough her own voice was. “I, uh—”

She was rescued from continuing by Dairon and Fjord catching up with her. Her dad raised a brow.

“I didn’t realize we’d have another guest,” he said, frowning. “I only brought three sandwiches.”

“It’s alright,” Dairon said immediately. “I was planning on abstaining in any case. You and the kids can enjoy the... takeout.”

Beau almost snickered. She knew it must be killing Dairon to have something so flagrantly unhealthy (not to mention the _waste_ ) brought into her home. But she was also peeking at her dad out of the corner of her eye, trying to measure his reactions. It’d be hell if he got offended, thought Dairon was trying to disrespect or slight him or something.

For now, he seemed unruffled, at least. Still Beau didn’t let her guard down.

Meanwhile Fjord was doing his boy scout act, shaking her father’s hand and introducing himself as her friend and everything.

Her dad arched a brow and she scratched her arm, self-conscious. When was the last time she brought a friend to meet her dad? When was the last time she _had_ a friend for him to meet?

“I’m glad to see you’re fitting in well at your new school, Beauregard,” he said, as they all sat down to eat the takeout dinner. Fuck, it was so hard to read him.

“Oh, um, I didn’t meet Fjord at school. He’s a—a friend from therapy.”

“Interesting. Is it the support group Zeenoth mentioned to me?”

“That’s the one.”

He peered at Fjord with new understanding. “So, that means you—”

“Yes, sir. Been in care for almost my whole life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son,” he said, sounding genuine. “That must have been difficult.”

“Wasn’t all bad,” Fjord said, perfectly polite and evasive as always. He thumbed the cutlery in his hands. (Who the hell used a knife and fork on a kebab sandwich anyway? Apparently Fjord.) “I’m grateful for where I am right now, sir.”

“Good manners, this one,” her dad said, peering sideways at Beauregard. He gave a half-smile. “Maybe he’ll rub off on you, huh?”

“Not likely,” she said, stuffing more bread than probably wise into her mouth.

Her dad just rolled his eyes, still smiling a little. Beau’s heart squeezed in her chest.

(It was _pathetic_ was what it was, a voice in the back of her mind said. The cocktail of excitement and giddiness and anxiety swirling around inside her. She studiously tried to ignore it, tried not to think at all about what she was feeling right now.)

Dinner went on like that, extremely uneventful with Fjord doing most of the talking, which was exactly what Beau had been hoping for when she brought him. But from the way Beau’s heart was hammering, you’d think she was in a war zone or something, not just eating a sandwich surrounded by relatively boring conversation.

She tried to keep her head down and mouth shut as much as possible, afraid her nerves would inevitably make her do something stupid and fuck shit up just for the hell of it.

At some point her dad asked her about school and she almost dropped the glass of water she was holding, her hand got sweaty and slippery _so fast._

“I—you know,” she said evasively, “I passed the grade. That’s a win, right?”

“I would say that’s quite a low bar,” her father said drily, “but I suppose having to transfer to a new school in the middle of the year could make things difficult.”

_Wow. That’s almost... understanding?_

She carefully didn’t mention the fighting or suspensions, unwilling to ruin his unusually amenable mood. Thankfully Dairon wasn’t in the room to say anything, either.

When they’d pretty much finished eating, Fjord excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Beau and her father alone at the table.

There was about a minute of heavy, awkward silence. Her hands got sweaty again.

Then she finally lifted her head to meet her father’s eyes: cool and unimpressed as always, like smooth frozen ice, but not angry at least. That was something.

“Zeenoth said you wanted to see me,” she blurted. She instantly diverted her gaze again, face burning.

“Yes,” he said evenly. “Of course.”

“I—” She struggled. “I don’t—why?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you, Beauregard?”

There was a faint note of frustration in his voice now, making Beau bite her tongue.

He sighed, continuing, “After all, you were the one who wanted to stop visitation—which you made known, rather colorfully.”

“I know.” Her shoulders hunched. “I just—I was pissed. Sorry.”

The word tasted like dust on her tongue, but it came out regardless. She peeked up at him, and he still didn’t seem angry.

“I know you were just being emotional,” he said. “That’s why I contacted Zeenoth to get things back on track.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Beau chewed her lip, unable to look at her dad for more than a few seconds at a time before having to drop her gaze, feeling as if ants were crawling across her skin. “I, uh—does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Her voice sounded so damn small.

“About your outburst last time?” he asked, brow perked.

“No, not that. About, uh—” She wiped her hands on her shorts, blinking hard. _Shit._ “About... never mind.”

Searing silence. Beau felt like an idiot. Why would she even bring up something like that? Or even form the thought in her mind? About the way her dad had been so fucking _pissed_ at her, after the cops and social workers and Dairon? As if it was _her_ fault he had to bring her to the hospital, _her_ fault fucking CPS got involved in their lives again?

(Never mind that it _was_ her fault. Parts of it, at least. Her hands shook. It _was_ her fault, yeah, but even she could recognize it wasn’t _just_ on her. It wasn’t fair for him to blame it all on her, it was a dick move, _fuck_ —and maybe that was why she lost her shit at him the last time they had visitation—

So why the fuck did she still _care_ if he was mad at her or not?)

“No,” her father said quietly. “I’m not angry, Beauregard. I was frustrated, but... I have to accept you just panicked. There’s nothing we can do about that now.”

Beau ducked her head, nails digging into her stupid sweaty palm. The ants crawled.

“You lost your cool in the hospital,” he said. “And you continue to have problems with that. The fights at your new school—”

Her head whipped up. “You know about those?”

“Of course I know about my own daughter getting suspended, _again._ ” He leveled a stare at her, still—still not angry. “Zeenoth updates me on that much, at least.”

“Right,” she mumbled. Still shocked. She really thought he’d have brought the suspensions up way sooner, if he’d known all along. But he still showed up with good takeout, and was nice to Fjord, and—

_Fuck._ She was such an utter piece of garbage.

“You can’t go on like this, Beauregard,” her dad said, almost, almost gentle. “I hope this support group gets some results.”

“You—you think the group is a good idea?”

“I don’t know, Beauregard.” He sighed. He stared until she finally lifted her head to meet his eyes. “I just know you have to do better.”

“I—I know, dad.” The lump was back in her throat. “I... I’ll try.” Beau winced, corrected herself: “I _am_ trying.”

“After a certain point, ‘trying’ becomes an empty act without any actual results.”

At those words, white-hot anger sparked in her ribs—mostly because she knew her father was _right._ She’d often thought the same thing to herself, in the rare moments she was willing to be honest.

Before she could do something she’d regret, Fjord returned from the bathroom, and the remaining fifteen minutes of visitation passed in a haze. When her father took his leave, he shook Fjord’s hand, nodded politely at Dairon, and gave Beau a parting clap on the shoulder. His hand lingered and squeezed a little too tight, just enough for her to register hurt, and then he was gone. Until next week.

He’d left something else, too, a last surprise in a long night—Beau’s PlayStation 4, which he’d brought over from her room back home because he figured (quite correctly) she was bored at Dairon’s without it.

She and Fjord spent some time hooking it up to the living room TV, while Dairon was finishing up her own dinner.

“Y’know,” he said, flipping through her game collection, “your dad seems half-decent.”

Her stomach felt like lead. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I just mean,” said Fjord warily, sensing something off with her tone because of _course_ she’s transparent as shit, like always, “it looks like the guy’s trying, at least.”

_Trying._ Yeah.

The stupid thing was, Beau didn’t even _disagree_ with him, necessarily. But the anger waiting to ignite inside her all evening cracked open, spilled over. Like always.

“Jesus, Fjord, it was one dinner,” she snapped. “Don’t act like you fucking know him. Or me.”

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands up in surrender. “I’m not tryin’ to presume anything, okay? But fucking hell, you barely said a damn word to him all night, and it’s just, well. You’re family.”

“Yeah, and your folks dumped you like used tissue, so maybe family isn’t really worth shit.”

She regretted the words as soon as she said them.

Fjord didn’t so much flinch as shut down, his face going blank and smooth. Beau dropped her eyes, hating herself. Not moving to apologize.

“It’s getting late,” he said eventually. “Dairon still up for giving me that ride home?”

“Yeah,” she said, getting to her feet. “Yeah, of course.”

As she walked him to the door, the vital words— _I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m an asshole I’m sorry I’m like this I’m sorry_ —clung to the tip of her tongue, crawled across her skin to join the familiar invisible ants.

“Thanks,” she said instead. “For coming tonight. Even though I lied and everything.”

“No problem,” he said, still carefully, perfectly smooth.

“Seriously.” Beau looked him in the eye. “I really—I really, really appreciate it, man.”

Fjord’s face softened, just a fraction. “Sure, Beau. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He patted her on the back. Light, awkward. And then he was gone, too.

Beau retreated into her room, shutting off all the lights so it’d look like she was asleep when Dairon got home. She didn’t care how early it still was. She just didn’t want to deal with a conversation, or lecture, or impromptu fucking therapy session with Dairon, not right now, not tonight.

She huddled under her blankets and opened Messenger on her phone.

**Beauregard:** _hey. have you picjed up the stuff yet_

**Caleb:** _No. I intend to go tomorrow directly before I meet you._

**Beauregard:** _good_

**Beauregard:** _everything I asked for? Double it_

**Caleb:** _I am not some mule made to transport heavy loads, Beauregard_

**Beauregard:** _bring a fucking backpack then._

There were a couple of minutes of radio silence. Then:

**Caleb:** _Ja. I’ll see you tomorrow._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments & feedback are always super appreciated <3


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